Behind the Masks
by CameronM201
Summary: Chuck and Blair meet one night at a masked party and both are intrigued. Blair rediscovers parts of herself she had hidden away long ago. Chuck becomes the man he never knew he could be. Everyone has secrets, and no one is what they seem. CB, DS, NJ.
1. Beginning

BEHIND THE MASKS

A Gossip Girl Fanfic

Author: CameronM201

Pairing: Chuck and Blair

Rating: M

A/N: I do not own Gossip Girl.

* * *

**Prologue**

_"Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within." _  
_~ James A. Baldwin_

Nate saw her first. Well, looked at her would be the more appropriate term, as Chuck was the only one who has ever completely _seen_ her. Not even I, after years of being her best friend, can do that. So Nate looked at a beautiful girl, beautiful and poised with the grace and glamour of Audrey, flair of Marilyn, and dignity of Grace, but underneath the image she carefully designed and projected, there was something wrong, something broken. She had tried to fix it endlessly, but after continuous failure, she had to accept defeat to her worst enemy – herself. Now, she just attempted to achieve perfection, denying that there was anything broken at all. And to the outside world, there didn't seem to be. She was fine with the naivety of the outsiders who believed she truly was perfect, not happy necessarily, but fine. Sure, no one really saw her, but she certainly wasn't invisible. Everyone knew her name, knew things about her…trivial mostly, but information nonetheless. But it wasn't until Chuck that she realized what it was like to be seen, really seen, and not just looked at, listened to and not just heard, to feel like she was more than just an it girl's best friend, the queen of a school, and a fashion designer's daughter. But let's not get ahead of ourselves here. After all, to completely understand a story, especially one about love, you have to start at the beginning.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_Although I know it's unfair I reveal myself one mask at a time._  
_ ~ Stephen Dunn******  
**_

_FIVE YEARS AGO_

Nate and Chuck grinned toothily at each other as they leaned their heads against the wall, letting the joints work their magic. It wasn't long before Nate could feel his mind getting fuzzy, the boiling of his blood, and the dissolving of his stress. Though most people assumed life was easy for Nate, the Golden Boy of the Upper East Side, he had pressure too, especially his father's endless discussions of Dartmouth when all Nate wanted to do was go to USC. There was adventure there, and he could imagine smoking up as he walked down a sandy, white beach, surfing in the crystal blue water, and most of all, escaping the expectations everyone in New York had laid out for him since before he was even old enough to understand them. But while he wanted to escape for his sake, he also wanted to escape for theirs, the people who expected so much from him and would inevitably be let down by his failure. Nate knew that there was no chance in hell those expectations were becoming reality, and he didn't want to disappoint anyone. So he dreamed instead of running the exact opposite direction of where everyone else wanted him to go. California was the answer.

Nate tilted his head over to Chuck and wondered what his best friend was thinking about. As he saw Chuck lick his lips, he followed his eyes to a tall redhead in a dress so tight, you could see the outlines of every little curve she had. Nate rolled his eyes. At only 16, Chuck already had a hit list that rivaled even Hefner's, and his reputation was even dirtier. Nate and Chuck were clearly foils of each other – Nate's warm heart to Chuck's cold one, Nate's ignorance to Chuck's unrivaled sense of perception, Nate's overbearing and overprotective parents to Chuck's distant, unemotional, and uncaring father – but somehow, their differences only served to bring them closer. They balanced each other out, and since both were only children, they were the closest things either would get to having a brother.

Nate continued to scan the room, his hazy blue eyes attempting (and nearly always failing) to recognize his schoolmates behind the masks they had been required to wear to the exclusive event. He knew it was supposed to create a sense of mystery and intrigue, but he just found it confusing and off-putting, as he did most things that required any sort of guessing. How was he supposed to hang out with his friends if he didn't even know which ones they were? And in that instant, he spotted her. She was descending the staircase leading into the party with an air of superiority he had only seen in one other person before, a person who was still checking out the leggy redhead.

"Hey man, who is that girl?"

Chuck snapped his head first to Nate, then to the direction Nate was pointing. Nate head Chuck sigh and saw him give his head a little shake.

"Nathaniel," he began, drawing Nate's name out. He was the only one Nate liked calling him Nathaniel. "That is not a girl, but a woman."

"Yeah, okay Chuck, but who is she?" It wasn't so much her beauty that interested him, though she was beautiful, but rather the way she had gone down the stairs like she owned the place – no, like she owned the world. "You don't know, do you?" Nate continued, quite enjoying Chuck's expression as he racked his brain trying to remember all his one-night stands. They both knew he never could. "I thought you knew every girl in Manhattan by now."

"Nathaniel, Nathaniel," Chuck berated, his voice full of self-assuredness, his posture one of cockiness. "I know _exactly_ who she is."

"So?" Nate asked. "Who is she?"

"The woman who will be screaming my name in about five minutes. I couldn't care less what hers is." Chuck's eyes never left his prospect.

"Oh, man, gross." Nate watched Chuck as he sauntered off, a predator after his prey, though it was difficult to classify this girl as prey. She looked intimidating and fierce to Nate, but that was only because he couldn't see past her mask, the literal or the figurative.

You may be wondering whether I was there among the revelers that night. The answer is yes, of course. That was going to be one of the most talked about parties of the year; how could I resist? And I was glad to go to; I wouldn't want to have missed Chuck's first encounter with my best friend.

"Hello," he began, his voice low and silky.

"Hi," his prospect responded, clearly appraising him with her dark eyes while she spoke.

"You look familiar," Chuck said, eyeing first her chocolate ringlets, her long, white neck, the spot where her fuschia dress dipped into a "V" and exposed milky flesh, and back up to her lips, which were perfectly pouty and pink. "Have we met before?"

"I don't know," she answered, not having made up her mind about him yet. Normally, all it took was a few seconds for her to decide if someone was friend or foe and then treat them as such, but she was clearly intrigued by this character.

"We must not have met then, because I'm sure you would remember meeting me."

"Is that so? I was under the impression that you can never be sure just who you're talking to at a masquerade."

"Oh, I can assure you if you knew me you would know me anywhere. Would you like me to prove it to you? We could get properly acquainted in that secluded corner over there, or on the roof if that's more your style."

"Thanks for the offer, and while I'm very flattered and all, I'm not interested at this point in time." While before, their back-and-forth vocal sparring had clearly amused both of them, Chuck's eyes suddenly got a shade darker.

"Is that so?" he asked, mimicking her words and sarcastic tone from before.

"Not in the market for an STD, I'm afraid. Too bad, really… Though it appears you have fan club by the bar that would be all to happy to join your not-so-little black book." Her dainty hand pointed in the direction of the trio that was sucking down martinis and wearing matching exprssions of desperation and desire unconcealed by their thin masks. She certainly was enjoying this, unsurprising considering very few people were able to capture her attention like he had. As she smirked up at him, a matching expression appeared on his face, and the light returned to his eyes.

"You lied to me. You know exactly who I am," he said, admiring the way her eyes peered out from under her wispy golden mask mischievously.

"I never said I didn't know who you were, just implied it. I make it my business to know everyone else's, even boozing, womanizing playboys."

"Ouch," he said, pretending to be insulted, and placing a hand over his heart. "But I'm afraid you left me at a disadvantage."

"And what's that?"

"You know who I am, and I know nothing about you, not even your name." Behind the pair, Nate shook his head – so much for not caring about this girl's name.

"It's supposed to be a mystery," she chided as if it were obvious. "I can't tell you who I am. It will ruin all the fun."

"Then, how about I tell you who I want you to be instead?" Chuck waited to see how she would react to this one. It wasn't just her name that was a mystery to him. This girl continued to surprise him, and he couldn't understand why he was feeling so turned on just by _talking._

She laughed in answer. Chuck couldn't believe it. Most girls would be all over him after a line like that, and those who weren't would run off scared with their panties in a twist. But this girl, no woman, as he had correctly informed Nate, was something else entirely.

So, who was she?


	2. Mystifying

**Chapter 2**

_The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious...He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed. _

_~ Albert Einstein_

She continued to gaze at him, amusement in her eyes, until a short Asian girl sandwiched herself between them, breaking their contact.

"Nearly midnight!" she squealed, clearly drunk. She was dressed up, but her plaid dress and the glasses that were visible under her mask revealed that she was bookish, definitely the type who buried herself in school work until she was on the verge of exploding from the pressure and then released it all by getting completely wasted every once in a while. "And then, at midnight, everybody's masks will come off, and there's this guy I've been talking to, and we were discussing the cognitive dissonance theory, which is – "

"I know what it is!" The Asian girl visibly flinched at the beautiful girl's frigidity. "Nelly!" she continued, in a voice so staccato that Nelly took a couple steps backward. "If I were you, I would leave right this instant, as you've just publically embarrassed yourself enough to carry yourself into the next decade. Consider yourself lucky if I ever agree to be seen in public with you again." And with that, Nelly walked off forlornly, her mouth in a tight line, but she did what she was told and reached the exit without another word.

"Now if you'll excuse me, unfortunately, I must follow suit." Her playful tone was back, and she was giving Chuck her full attention. "The mystery is too much fun to let go of tonight, and it is almost twelve." Chuck couldn't believe it. He wanted to talk to this mystery woman all night. Well, he would have preferred to do more than just talk, but it was true that he could have gone without. He could get high off just her presence and wanted to bask in the light she was radiating.

"Don't go," he said, surprising himself and those who were listening. Was Chuck Bass begging for a girl to stay with him? Realizing his mistake, he replaced his genuine expression with one of his signature sultry smirks and added, "You may know a few things about me, but you certainly haven't seen the best parts I have to offer yet." She could tell he had meant it when he asked her not to go, but this was too rare an opportunity to pass up. She loved a good mind game, and he seemed like the player she had been waiting for – smart enough to hold his own against her and entertaining enough to keep her on her toes.

"True, and the majority of the females in the room could probably confirm it," she responded, a dazzling smile lighting her face. "But not to worry; you'll see me again sometime."

"All of you I hope."

She shook her head, now grinning widely. "Enjoy the rest of your night, Bass." And with that, she floated through the crowd and up the stairs into the unbearably hot August night.

I was with her of course, and while I usually pride myself on being the life of any party and would have attempted to take part in their conversation, by that point I was so drunk, it was a wonder I could even get up the stairs. I was lucky my best friend was there, that's for sure. I could feel her death grip on my forearm as she half-dragged me out of the party and onto the chaotic street where a sleek, black town car awaited us.

* * *

Chuck was still standing where she'd left him, almost as if he were in a trance.

"You okay?" Nate asked him chuckling at his friend's strange behavior.

"Of course, Nathaniel," Chuck answered robotically. "I just – " and there he faltered. Nate had never known it was possible for Chuck to lose his cool due to a girl, or anything for that matter, but this girl had flat-out rejected him (albeit in a roundabout and charming way) in the middle of a party. But whatever effect she'd had faded after a few moments, and Chuck pulled himself back together; wherever his head was before, it had now managed to find its way back to earth. "I just don't enjoy having to settle for my second choice," he finished, scanning the room for the tall redhead who had been giving him eye sex earlier.

"Then don't," Nate said as if it were obvious.

"Excuse me?" Chuck's expression was incredulous. "You're telling me that I should just go home? Come on, from the looks Firecracker over there was giving me, it would probably last all night…"

"You, know I thought I'd mentioned this before, but I'm going to go ahead and do it again. I don't need to hear every dirty thought that crosses your mind, man. Sometimes a filter can be a good thing," Nate said, grinning. He clearly wasn't all that perturbed, but he wasn't willing to let their previous subject drop. "Don't settle," he explained. "If you like her, and it's pretty obvious you do, then wait until you see her again. I'm sure she'll come around." Nate could tell his words had shocked Chuck even further, but he had been thinking for a while now that Chuck needed to slow down before he went through every breathing female on the Upper East Side. Things were beginning to get awkward at all the parties they went to, because Chuck's "one and done" mentality when it came to women did not appeal to them like it did Chuck. Nate had witnessed Chuck getting slapped a couple times this year, in addition to hoards of women flinging themselves on him in an attempt to become the exception to his rule. It was obvious to Nate that they would never be able to get him to bed them again, but it still made him uncomfortable to watch them try.

And while Chuck had picked up the womanizing habit from his father, Bart clearly did not like that he had acted on it so quickly. Chuck was only sixteen after all. Plus, Chuck was Bart's only heir to Bass Industries, and he wanted Chuck to have a good reputation when and if he had to take over. Though Bart had more of an absentee parenting style, and when he was there he tended to criticize Chuck constantly, Nate did see his point on this issue. Chuck, however, did not, or more likely he did, and he just continued to bed women out of both enjoyment of their company and the satisfaction of pissing off his father.

"And this is what you really think, Nathaniel?" Chuck's mouth formed a slight sneer, but his voice revealed his pure, genuine curiosity.

"I really do," Nate said honestly. "I really do."

* * *

On the other side of town, Jenny Humphrey was freaking out. She had not received an invite to the exclusive party, which she expected but was still disappointed by, but out of pity, Penelope had given her an address for another party, one she said was being hosted by a cute lacrosse player from Dalton. But when she reached the address and the cabbie had sped away, she realized it was an abandoned warehouse, and a sketchy one at that. The street was dark and the alleys endless, things she should have noticed but was too excited to realize. Across the pavement, she could see two men hunched over exchanging what appeared to be a Ziploc of white powder and a wad of cash thicker than any Jenny had every laid eyes on. One of the men looked vaguely familiar, but she immediately chastised herself for thinking so. How could should possibly know anyone buying drugs? As the sky above thundered menacingly, she reluctantly ran to a spot under the awning of the warehouse. Though she evidently wasn't going to be attending any parties tonight, she still didn't want to risk ruining the homemade dress she had slaved over for days. Sighing, Jenny pulled out her outdated, clunky cell, dialed, and shifted her feet as it rang.

"Cab service please," she said, her voice sugary sweet. She waited as she was connected to a New York taxi company and looked around anxiously as she did. On the door of the warehouse, she noticed a bright yellow paper fluttering in the relieving summer breeze.

"Go back to Brooklyn," she read allowed. "You don't belong here, and you never will." She felt her eyes begin to water. Whereas before, she had been convinced that Penelope had mistakenly given her the wrong address, it was obvious now that this was the exact scenario Penelope had imagined and planned to create, one that would both hurt and embarrass the incoming freshman desperate to be a member of the popular group at school. Jenny ran a shaky hand through her ashen blond hair and smoothed out the single crease she had not been able to iron out of the strapless pink creation, even after an hour of effort.

"Hello, NYC Taxis," she heard on the other end of the phone.

"Yes, hi," she managed to choke out. "A need a ride. To Brooklyn."


	3. Seeking

A/N: Okay, so this is the longest chapter yet! I really enjoyed writing it, and I would greatly appreciate some reviews! ;) Let me know if there's a certain character you'd like to see next! I always loved the minions, so I wanted to include them in this chapter, and if you are like me, then fear not! They will definitely make additional appearances!

* * *

**Chapter 3**

_"If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself." _  
_~ George Orwell _

The next morning, I experienced an especially horrible hangover (And that was saying something. I hadn't achieved the party girl reputation I had off of mere rumors.) My eyes were bloodshot and stinging, and I felt as if someone was hurling a boulder through my skull every few seconds. I stumbled clumsily out of bed and realized someone had managed to get me into pajamas and wipe off all of my makeup. Well, not just someone. I knew exactly who had done it, and she was still asleep in the guest room next door. She had probably headed there when she remembered that I had a tendency to snore with the power and persistence of thunder during storms after I had gotten completely wasted before going to sleep. I felt a surge of affection toward her, even if she had skipped out on sleeping next to me like we used to when we were little. God only knows whose bed I would have ended up in had she not been with me to usher me into my mom's penthouse. She was very efficient at it now after getting an entire summer of practice. I felt a little pang of guilt creep into the pit of my stomach and thought I might vomit. Or maybe it was just the effect of the alcohol left in my body from the previous night.

"Hey, S, you're finally up. I thought I was going to have to pry your eyes open with a pair of pliers." Obviously, I had been incorrect in my assumption that she was still asleep in the guest bedroom. A glance at my clock proved why; it was already two o'clock in the afternoon.

"Yeah," I croaked, grinning sheepishly. "I guess I needed a little bit of extra beauty sleep after the hit I took last night."

"Oh, please," she said, rolling her eyes. I looked at her, expecting a compliment to follow, something along the lines of _"You don't need beauty sleep, S!" _Instead, she continued with, "No amount of beauty sleep could ever fix your face." A smug smile was etched across her face. Well, if that was the way she wanted to play it, I figured I might as well jump in the game.

"Oh, so that's why you don't even bother trying to sleep at all!" I said, expecting her to laugh or come back with a quick-witted retort. But she suddenly looked taken aback, and I noticed the deep, dark circles she had almost managed to hide with concealer as I realized my mistake. "I'm sorry," I started, but she cut me off.

"You haven't told anyone about it, right? S, you swore you wouldn't!" Her voice was shrill, and she looked panicky. Her reaction worried me; I wasn't used to this kind of burst of emotion from my usually cool, collected, and levelheaded friend.

"Of course not," I assured her, touching her thin, pale arm in what I hoped was a comforting way. "Your secret is safe with me." She nodded curtly, not quite satisfied but accepting of my response, and I felt a wave of relief crash over me. She certainly protected me in a more obvious way (and her protection was more frequently necessary, but that was beside the point). She dragged me home whenever I was too drunk (or high, I added silently with a slight wince) to walk, intervened when a suspicious guy or two seemed unwilling to take no for an answer, and made sure I didn't ever get the opportunity to say yes and regret it later…. The list went on, but it was also true that I felt a responsibility just as strong to protect her, and if she wanted her secret kept, I would guard it as long as she asked me to.

* * *

Penelope flicked her dark chocolate tresses over her shoulder, satisfied that after a trip to the salon, they were immaculately curled and glossed. She looked over to Hazel, who was attempting (and failing) to discreetly pick a piece of lettuce from between two of her teeth. The poor girl needed work if she was ever going to become a full-fledged minion. Penelope crossed her ankles in the ladylike way she had been taught in prep school and turned to her left. Iz was checking her reflection for the hundredth time in her compact mirror. She had gotten her teeth whitened yesterday and was now obsessed with grinning at herself like an idiot into anything that could show her reflection.

Penelope sighed and glanced out onto the street surrounding the posh outdoor café. At least four guys had usually attempted to hit on their trio by this point in the meal. It seemed today was slow. At least, that's what Penelope would tell herself. She had too much pride to admit that no guys actually wanted to hit on her today.

"Ah, here comes our first suitor now," she said, hoping this would be one full of compliments. Her friends hadn't even noticed her fabulous hair or perfectly styled outfit, and she needed someone to build up her ego. She lowered her gaze, wanting to appear distracted so the guy would have to get her attention, but she couldn't resist fluttering her eyelashes as she pushed her salad around in its bowl.

"Um, excuse me?" Penelope looked up and felt her mouth form a symmetrical "O." She immediately snapped her jaw shut in embarrassment, but it had been an irrepressible reaction to the guy standing in front of her. Nate Archibald, who Penelope believed was the finest of all God's creations, was at their table, looking a bit uncomfortable but a lot attractive. His blond hair had gotten a bit long over the summer and swooped across his forehead in a way that made Penelope's mouth water, and his eyes were crystal blue as always and stood out against his mint green polo. This was it, she reasoned, this was the moment she had been waiting for since she first spied Nate at one of his lacrosse games in middle school. Penelope's older brother had been on the team, and it gave her the perfect excuse to attend every single one of them after that. She had leaned on the fence longingly and soaked in the blonde's lean muscles, golden skin, and the gleaming sheen of sweat he'd have after the game. Now, after years of her harboring an unhealthy obsession with him, he was finally going to ask her out.

"I've tried asking girls from almost every school in Manhattan," Nate began, his voice tired. "I didn't think Constance was a possibility, since I know most of the girls who go there, but now I don't even know what to think, so here I am. I just hope you can help me." The girls didn't catch the muttered, "Or Chuck's going to lose it," he tacked on at the end.

"Help you with what?" Penelope asked with a stiff, frozen smile. This was not what she was expecting, not at all what was supposed to be happening.

"Yeah, help with what?" Echoed Iz, leaning into the crook of her elbow and smiling seductively. Penelope threw her a menacing glare to wipe the stupid, sparkling white grin off her face. It worked.

"I'm looking for a girl," he said, and Penelope felt her heart drop into her stomach. "She was at the party last night, and she had brown hair, was wearing a pink dress, and had on a headband. And she was talking to Chuck for a while."

"No idea who you're referring to," Penelope announced frostily. If she couldn't have Nate, then she sure as hell wasn't going to hand him over to the girl who was already queen of their elite high school. The only thing that girl was missing was a king, and with Nate Archibald by her side, there was no way she was ever going to be able to usurp the throne or win Nate over. She had already spent the last five years making sure the Golden Boy and the Queen knew each other by only name, not by face. She would persuade the clique not to go to events where she knew he would be, and when that didn't work, she would periodically sweep through the crowd to make sure they stayed as far away from each other as possible.

"Sorry," she finished, not sorry at all.

"Well, okay then. Thanks anyway," Nate said. He walked off slowly, his shoulders slumping as he realized he'd have to report another failure to Chuck. Penelope's mouth tightened as she watched him go, and she headed to the bathroom to compose herself. For now, she was a favored subject of the queen's court, and all a public meltdown would achieve would be a figurative cry of "Off with her head!" from the queen. Penelope would drown in complete social isolation from everyone that mattered at Constance. She'd worked far too long and too hard at getting in the social position she was in now to let anything ruin it for her, even the fact that all the boy of her dreams felt toward her was indifference.

* * *

Hazel got up as soon as Penelope had reached the bathroom and skipped over to Nate as fast as her short legs could carry her.

"Hey, wait!" she called, her eyes bright. "I can help you!" Nate turned back and looked down at Hazel, who looked both out of breath and satisfied. "Here," she said, handing Nate a balled up napkin. "It's your girl's phone number."

"Thank you," Nate said, feeling a thousand-pound weight being lifted off his shoulders. "Really, you have no idea – "

"No problem!" she interrupted. "But there is something I'd like in return, of course."

"Of course," Nate responded. "Name it." He was sure that whatever this girl wanted couldn't be hard to get. It was most likely going to be an exchange of phone numbers, the one he held in his hand for one of his lacrosse friend's, or perhaps even his own.

"I need a pair," she started, clearly embarrassed as she looked down at her yellow ballet flats. "Of Chuck Bass's boxers."

"You're kidding." Nate had not expected that and his blue eyes widened at the innocent-looking girl in front of him.

"I wish. Our group at school does a lot of competitive scavenger hunts, and I've never won. Chuck's boxers are the hardest thing on the list, so by getting those, I think I'd actually have a chance." She shrugged her shoulders and looked at him expectantly.

Before Nate had a chance to reply, Penelope spied the two talking and barked, "Hazel! What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Hazel responded automatically. "Coming, P!" She ran back to her table without a backward glance at Nate, who was silently placing the napkin in the pocket of his shorts and wondering what Chuck was getting himself into if these were the kind of girls his mystery woman hung out with.


	4. Finding

A/N: Okay, so originally this story was rated T, but after writing this chapter, I realized that it was not going to work as a T-rated story with the direction I'm taking it. I hope that is okay with everyone! For now my other story is staying T, but who knows… That could change too. Thanks to all my readers, and remember to please review!

* * *

**Chapter 4**

_"So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane." _  
_ ~ John Green_

"Chuck," Nate panted, chest heaving. "Did you know that –"

"– the elevator's out? Yes, Nathaniel, I'm aware. Did you seriously climb the stairs all the way up here?"

"Yes. What else was I supposed to do?" Nate asked. Chuck stared at him in response before finally rolling his eyes and answering.

"Think long and hard. I know you have it in you." Nate did as Chuck suggested and attempted to come up with an alternative solution.

"I got nothing," he admitted after a few minutes of silence only broken by Chuck's sips of scotch and Nate's heavy panting.

"Did you happen to notice the mechanic working on the elevator? Or think to ask him how much longer it would be, or to ask me over the phone?" At these words, Nate buried his sweaty forehead in his equally sweaty hands, and Chuck smirked as heard the soft ping of the elevator, which now seemed to be in working order. Without a word, Nate pulled the crinkled up napkin out of his shorts and placed it in front of Chuck.

"I understand that you're frustrated with yourself, Nathaniel, but there's no need to place unsanitary napkins on my immaculate pool table because of it."

"S'not," Nate managed in between ragged breaths, "used." God, he thought he'd been in shape after a long summer of swimming, lacrosse, basketball, and squash with Chuck, but apparently fifteen floors of stairs could still do a number on him. "It has her," another breath, "phone number on it." Chuck immediately set down the glass of alcohol that had previously been glued to his hand.

"Her? As in mystery woman?" Nate merely nodded. He still needed some recovery time. Chuck snatched up the napkin and took out his phone. Before his hands reached the buttons, however, he stopped and looked at Nate. "You didn't get her name did you?" Nate shook his head no, too exhausted to even mumble an apology. "It's all right," Chuck said, mostly to himself. "I can't imagine she'd be very happy if someone else revealed her name. And her happiness is, of course, of the utmost importance." He grinned to himself and returned his gaze to Nate once more. "Thank you for helping me with this. There's only one thing girls are willing to give up to me, and it's not information. But, you know, I can't imagine why," he finished, his voice oozing sarcasm.

"I can," Nate huffed. "You'll find a way to use it against them."

"Are you suggesting I'd stoop to blackmail?" Chuck placed a hand over his heart and pretended to look shocked.

"I know you would. And you do," Nate said, still upset about the flights of stairs he'd had to climb to deliver a stupid napkin. Chuck just laughed softly at his friend and retreated to his bedroom to make his call. He felt something strange in the pit of his stomach as he looked at the neatly printed numbers. It felt like…fluttering. No. That couldn't be. He was Chuck Bass, and the only reason he had been making so much effort for this woman was that she seemed like she'd be some of the best sex of his life. No one had turned him on like she had in only a short amount of time. All last night, he'd imagined her pouty pink lips all over his skin, her hot little breaths on his thighs, her pert white breasts tight against him, and her dark curls whipping back and forth as she rode him in ecstasy. Chuck put an end to his thoughts as he felt the familiar rush of blood to his groin. Now wasn't the time, not when he held in his hand the possibility of making his fantasies into reality. He dialed the number and waited as it rang.

"Hello?" He heard her voice and the visions began again. "Hello?" she repeated, and Chuck realized he had to speak.

"Hello there stranger," he drawled, wondering what her reaction would be to hearing his voice, if she would feel this…fluttering feeling as well.

"Ah, so you managed to get your hands on my phone number. I must say I'm impressed. Only a exclusive few have it."

"And why is that?" He heard her chuckle sweetly through the line, but it didn't fool him for a second. He could imagine the mischievous gleam in her eyes even over the phone.

"Let's just say I'm very selective."

"And would you have given it to me if I'd asked?"

"Well, you've certainly caught my attention, and not many people are able to do that," she said, expertly dodging the question.

"Can't get me out of your head, can you?" Chuck asked.

"Don't flatter yourself, Bass," she said, and he recognized the smile in her voice. "You're only asking because you can't get _me_ out of _your_ head, and you're worried it's one-sided." God, she was too good.

"I was, admittedly, thinking about you last night. It was quite enjoyable, but I'm sure the real thing would be much more…satisfying."

"Careful, Bass," she said in her best bedroom voice. "I'm not sure I know you well enough to engage in dirty talk just yet. And, besides, I thought you were trying to win my affection. You should know that sweet talk is much more effective in doing so."

"That was sweet talk," Chuck answered, so low he could barely even hear his own words. "If you'd like to talk dirty, then I suggest you take me off speakerphone and lock your bedroom door." Her soft laugh carried over the line and Chuck found himself smiling automatically in response.

"Maybe some other time," she said, "but my mother's flying in from Paris really late tonight, and I need to go to bed and relax before she gets here."

"Is that an invitation?" Chuck murmured. "Because I'd love to help you relax." She chuckled again, so he continued. "You have my number now, so feel free to call if you want to take me up on my offer."

"Don't wait by the phone with bated breath. You'll surely be disappointed. Good night, Bass."

"Wait," said Chuck, wanting to hear her voice one last time. "Since you have continuously shot me down, will you at least consider giving me your name?" He knew what her response would be even before he asked the question, yet he found himself asking regardless.

"Not a chance." He heard her hang up and lay back in his bed. Well, he supposed fantasy would have to do for another night, but he liked the idea of a challenge, and the possibilities of reality were never far from his thoughts.

* * *

I shrieked as soon as she hung up the phone. "Oh my God! He is _so_ bad and you _so _love it!"

"Not true, S," she corrected me. "I just like a challenging mind game, and he's a worthy opponent."

"And that's all this is?" I asked, not believing her for a second. "Because I think you're full of shit."

"You know I don't appreciate foul language," she answered with a steely glare in my direction.

"You'd appreciate it if Chuck Bass was whispering it in your ear." I smiled smugly and crossed my tanned arms over my chest as if asking her to deny it.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd go now." It wasn't a denial, just a clever evasion. "I meant what I said about needing rest before Mother gets here."

"Alright," I sighed, giving up for now. "But this conversation isn't over."

"Goodbye, S," she said back, giving me a final and effective shove out the door. "Mention this to no one!" I made a show of sealing my mouth shut with my fingers, turning the key, and tossing it over my shoulder and waited for her to smile before I finally walked away. Little did I know, she had no intention of actually resting. She may have been in her bed, but all she could think of was the fact that Chuck Bass _was_ bad, but thoughts of him only made her feel oh so good.


	5. Discovering

**Chapter 5**

_"He looked at me with serious eyes, but not the kind that made me wonder what I'd done wrong. The kind that made me wonder what I'd done right." _  
_~ Denise Jaden_

Dan Humphrey rolled his eyes for what felt like the millionth time that afternoon. Jenny had stopped commenting on the eye rolling by this point, knowing her brother's simmering disdain of all things Upper East Side had to be released in some way, and she'd rather it be through his eyes than through his mouth. There was no telling when he could burst into one of his numerous (but all too familiar to Jenny) lectures criticizing the privilege, wealth, and power of all those who dared live, party, drink, and breathe within the invisible borders of the Upper East. Jenny understood Dan's point of view, but she found his abhorrence quite ridiculous. There was nothing wrong with being privileged, wealthy, and powerful in her opinion. It was what you did with the three that determined the kind of person you were. But despite Dan's harsh views that differed so strongly form Jenny's, he still found himself in a store whose name alone could induce a thousand eye rolls. He stood with her in Bergdorf Goodman (What a pretentious name!) becoming a human dress rack. He held up his right forearm and felt his jaw drop as he inspected the price tags of the things his sister had picked out. He was holding enough, on just one arm, to pay for an entire year at Dartmouth, the Ivy he was dreaming of going to, where he would study English and become a real writer.

"Jenny, how in the world are you planning on paying for this?" he sighed. Jenny didn't respond; she was far too absorbed in the shimmering white chiffon of an Oscar de la Renta creation. "Jenny," Dan pushed, knowing she had heard him but chose to ignore his question rather than face the reality that their father would never be able to afford to buy Jenny a dress from this place.

"Relax," said Jenny finally, flashing a silver Visa in his face. "I know what I'm doing."

"So your plan is…?" Dan asked, already concerned about the efforts his sister was making to fit in to the elite crowd of their already-exclusive private school, the one great expense their father made sure he could afford. Clothes didn't matter to Rufus, but the education of his children did, and he wanted the best for them. Obviously, Jenny disagreed, about the clothes part at least.

"Buy a dress. Wear the dress to a party. Leave the tags on. Return the dress after it's over. See? Simple." Dan stopped himself as he felt his eyes beginning to roll upwards for number one million and one.

"But Jenny," he countered, felling his arms start to wobble with the weight of the dresses. "If you only need one, why do I have to carry two armfuls? They're heavy, and unlike the actual clothes racks, I'm not made of metal."

"Because," she sighed. Dan would never understand a girl's point of view. He wore plaid every day, for God's sake! She sighed again as if explaining it to him was going to be an arduous task, but really, she couldn't wait to tell him. Firstly, she took advantage of every opportunity she was given to talk to Dan like he was a five-year-old since that's how often spoke to her, just with more judgment and condescension than Jenny knew how to put into her voice. Second, she also made sure to snatch up any chance she got to talk about the Upper East Side and her plans to become a part of its most talked about group, and her mouth often moved a mile a minute in enthusiasm when she did. "I have to find the _perfect_ dress," she continued. "In order to get everyone's attention, especially the queen, it has to be expensive, obviously, which is why we're here, but it also has to look fantastic on me, which his why you have so many dresses hanging off of your appendages." Dan nodded slowly along, following his sister's unraveling strand of words, and despite their ridiculousness, he found himself only able to carry on with his nodding. He had never seen Jenny so excited, with her eyes lit up in glee and her voice shooting up an octave in giddiness. It was best to keep his opinion to himself for once and just nod. "You really have nothing to say to all that?" she asked him, voice full of doubt.

"Nothing," he confirmed. "But I do request that we hurry this up. My arms are killing me."

"Your fault for not playing sports!" she shouted, perusing the store's racks again. "It's not my problem your spaghetti arms can't handle lifting a little bit of fabric!" She giggled at her older brother and kept browsing the clothes, getting farther and farther away as she stoked her small hands against the rainbow the different fabrics of the garments made. She was in heaven.

"Hey, it gets easier. I've had so much practice that I can carry ten on each arm for hours and not even feel it." Dan snapped his head around toward the voice and felt his heart start to pound. She must be able to hear it, he thought to himself. It was like drums or elephant's stomping. No – it was thunder. That's how loud it was.

When Dan asked me about it much later, I had to assure him many times that I could not actually hear his heart beating.

"Oh, oh, um, yeah," he began, simple words that would go down in history. Mine, at least. "I'm, I'm, uh, here for my sister." He pointed in Jenny's general direction and winced as he realized that lifting his arm also entailed lifting twenty pounds' worth of designer clothing. "And I don't have much practice," he added, his cheeks flushing. He knew I had seen him cringe at the weight.

"Here, hand them over," I requested, not knowing why this boy, who was clearly out of place, had charmed me, even though all he'd really done was stutter until coming up with responses that were equally as awkward as the actual stuttering. "Trust me, I've got this. I'm a professional," I said, grinning. I took the dresses, and he finally responded after I had them situated on my long, tanned arms.

"Thanks," he said, embarrassed that what had made his arms shake in protest could easily be handled by the girl in front of him. Spaghetti arms, he remembered Jenny calling them just a few moments ago. Curse these spaghetti arms. "I'm Dan, by the way," he said. "Dan, uh," he swallowed. "Humphrey." Normally, I would be wary of this sort of introduction. It wasn't often that a guy paused and inserted an "uh" between his first and last names unless it was either fake (and I had experienced much of that with infamous playboys who didn't want me to know that they were just trying to get under my skirt) or the creepy geeks I knew watched me whenever I sat and worked (okay, played games) on my laptop at the computer café or the library. But I just knew looking at Dan Humphrey that he was neither option.

"I'm – "

"–Serena van der Woodsen," he finished for me, and then his eyes widened as he realized how it must have come across. "Sorry," he said quickly, averting his eyes, still wide. "That was really creepy. I just, uh, know you. Well, who you are. From school!" He took a deep breath as he finished and mentally slapped himself. All I could do was laugh and flash him a bright smile.

"But why haven't we met before?" I asked. I thought I knew everyone at St. Jude's. After all, I had slept with a decent number of them.

"We have," he said. "At a sixteenth birthday last year. You, uh, said hi to me…" he trailed off in a low voice.

"Well I'm sorry we didn't get to talk more." At this, he blushed again.

"Oh my God! You're Serena van der Woodsen!"

Next to me, I heard Dan mumble, "My sister Jenny." The rest of the day was spent with the Humphrey siblings, Dan gradually growing more confident and even cracking a few jokes (often to the embarrassment of his sister), and Jenny being a bubbly, bright burst of energy. She even let me pick which dress she was going to buy for the cookout Penelope's parents were hosting during the upcoming weekend. All of the students from Constance and St. Jude's, along with their parents, were practically required to attend. Jenny saw it as her chance to figure out what Penelope and the others didn't like about her, change it, and then hopefully breach the walls of the queen's most exclusive castle. At Dan's silent urging, I chose the dress with the lower price tag, but the truth was, I liked it better anyway. Jenny was a sweet girl, but she was naïve, and I was worried that the vicious girls of our school would eat her alive and then spit her out only to start the process all over again.

* * *

"What are you looking at?" asked Iz, curious by the distracted look in her queen's eyes as she stared at her phone.

"Nothing," she responded quickly. Too quickly, she chastised herself, before realizing that it didn't matter. None of the girls would force her to say a thing if she didn't want to. She exited the contact she had pulled up five minutes ago. "Chuck Bass," it stated simply, listing his phone number right below it. Even looking at his name on her phone made her start to feel warm in all the wrong places. He had been right during their conversation from the day before. She couldn't get him out of her head. She just hoped he wouldn't be able to make his way into her heart quite so easily.


	6. Lying

**Chapter 6**

_"All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair."__  
__~ Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven_

"_The rules are simple: they lie to us, we know they're lying, they know we know they're lying, but they keep lying to us, and we keep pretending to believe them."__  
__~ Elena Gorokhova, A Mountain of Crumbs: A Memoir_

"No, no, no! I requested calla lilies for the party, not whatever these are!" Penelope looked on as her father irritably berated the florist, probably causing him to wet his pants with fear in the process. She knew her father was menacing; in fact, in moments like this, it could be quite amusing. His strong, square shoulders, his stony, onyx eyes, his large, sharply hooked nose that Penelope had inherited, and the rough, black goatee that seemed to make everyone uncomfortable all contributed to his aura of power and intimidation. No one in her family really liked the goatee either (in fact, her brother often poked fun at it), but the fact that the facial hair made him appear tough and masculine convinced him it was worth keeping.

"Those are hydrangeas," her mother said softly, patting her father's thick, Prada suit-clad arm. "And they'll be just lovely." Her parents always managed to balance each other out like that. Her mother was almost too sweet, a demeanor that had, ironically, been the thing that attracted her father in the first place. And it wasn't inauthentic, either; though considering they lived on the Upper East Side, many assumed it to be. Penelope's personality was far more like her father's than her kind and innocent mother's. Her father was willing to be cutthroat to get what he wanted in business, and Penelope was the same. Since her father had learned how to take advantage of his Saudi roots in the eighties, Penelope and her family had been loaded, and he continued to lie, cheat, blackmail, and in other words, play unfairly, in order for his company to remain the number one oil provider for big corporations. And unlike her older brother and mother, Penelope and her father had no qualms about flaunting their wealth. Their immaculate courtyard with lavish gardens, intricate Greek marble statues, and numerous large fountains screamed money at every angle. They begged people to be jealous, to compliment and admire them while at the same time loathe them for having so much, in particular the Blue Bloods of New York, who couldn't stand the speed with which the Shafai family had risen to the top of the socio-economic pyramid. Ah, the Blue Bloods. Last year, Anne Archibald had been practically simmering with disapproval and burning abhorrence. Penelope knew that this year, she was going to have to win Anne over. It was all part of the plan. If she couldn't gain Nate's affection right away, and she clearly wasn't going to be able to, she'd have to resort to approaching his mother first. It was why she had changed the order of calla lilies to hydrangeas. Anne was known for her green thumb, and they were her specialty, as her many bushes of pink, purple, blue, and white had received various awards among Hamptons garden and landscaping clubs and committees. It would be the perfect conversation topic, a way for Penelope to edge her way into the Archibalds' hearts.

* * *

I had never once been excited for the cookout at Penelope's, or anything to do with Penelope actually, but this time, I was. Maybe it was because I couldn't stop thinking about a certain boy I had met on a certain trip to Bergdorf Goodman, or maybe I was just thrilled that this year, I would finally get to be an upperclassman. Who was I kidding? It was Dan, "Lonely Boy" as Gossip Girl had christened him after we had been spotted together at Bergdorf's. He was awkward and a bit of a loner for sure, and the name did have a certain ring to it, but his awkwardness was endearing, and he made me feel special, and no other guy had ever even tried to. I couldn't wait to see him again. I just hoped he wouldn't be wearing plaid, because if he did, my best friend would be sure to kick him all the way back to Brooklyn, but only after tearing it to shreds with her perfectly manicured fingernails.

* * *

"Chuck?" Chuck heard his father's voice coming from his office and immediately began heading in that direction. Bart did not like to be kept waiting; in fact, it was probably his biggest pet peeve, other than being reminded that Chuck was his son, of course. And while Chuck enjoyed pushing his father to his limits and attempting to break through Bart's steely, stoic demeanor, this was not a good time to test him. He was already on thin ice after coming home from a club at four in the morning with a wasted Nate on his arm, and his father had threatened boarding school. All of Bart's threats were to be taken seriously; that Chuck knew.

"Yes, Father?" Chuck asked, thinly concealed anxiety in his polite tone. He poked his head reluctantly in the doorway, not sure whether he would be permitted to enter or if this would be a "quick disciplinary talk" as Bart had coined them, otherwise known as Bart screaming profanities about how disappointed he was in his son and Chuck standing sullenly and silently as he did.

"Due to your far less than satisfactory performance academically the past two years, coupled with your embarrassing behavior inside and outside of school…" And the robot father was already on a roll. His gravely voice was monotonous and unattached, as if he was talking to a business acquaintance rather than his own flesh and blood. "I have decided," he went on, "for your best interest, to – "

"Not boarding school, Father!" Chuck interrupted. He pretended to be indifferent about the possibility the last time the topic had been breached, but it was much easier to do so stoned and drunk. Faced with the probability rather than the possibility, however, he was prepared to beg even a father as horrible as Bart in order to stay in New York.

"Not boarding school, Chuck," his father assured him, but not in a way that made Chuck any more comfortable. "But keep up your disrespectful outbursts, and I will not hesitate to put your ass on the Bass jet and ship you across the Atlantic for the next two years." Chuck cringed under Bart's cold glare and lowered his head, keeping his eyes firmly locked on the grainy hardwood of the office. He studied the patterns of each strip of maple, noting the different spots of color that spread in rings, the way the lines blurred together at the ends. "But as of now, you will be attending Saint Jude's and remain there as long as you manage to improve your grades and attitude and engage in extracurricular activities other than boozing, partying, and women." Chuck slowly raised his head to look into the frigid, ice blue eyes of his father.

"Saint Jude's? Where Nate goes?"

"That's what I said, is it not? Now go get ready. There is a formal cookout at the Shafai home, and we are both required to be in attendance."

"Yes, Father," Chuck mumbled distractedly. He didn't know whether he was thrilled, concerned, or both. He was glad that he had a guaranteed friend at his new school, and a best friend at that, but he knew that the Archibalds would not hesitate to cut the time Nate was allowed to spend with him if they learned about any disorderly conduct Chuck engaged in at school, or worse – conduct he had managed to drag Nate into. Of course, there would also be the positive of Constance sharing a campus and the fact that his mystery woman would be within his reach every day for as long as he managed to not get kicked out of school, but optimistically, he would only need a few days to convince her to become his new extracurricular activity.

* * *

Less than an hour later, Nate was making his way into Penelope's family's party with a parent flanking either side of him. On his left, his father looked vaguely bored, but Nate knew he would soon perk up as he realized the sheer number of parents he would get to brag about Nate to. On his right, his mother was wearing a simple but flawlessly cut summer sheath and had a delicate strand of pearls that left no doubt as to who she was. Anne was never seen without a piece from her Vanderbilt pearl collection, heirlooms that had been in the family for years, nor was she often seen without the specialty of all the Vanderbilts – the striking look of utter disdain, which included a nose wrinkled in disgust, a hardened, tight-lipped grimace, and steely, narrowed eyes that criticized everything that was unlucky enough to be caught in their gaze. Luckily, Chuck had called to inform Nate that he would be in attendance and would bring the usual, "the usual" being a baggie of freshly rolled joints to light. Nate began scouting areas that would work for his discreet disappearing act, but instead of his eyes finding a secluded corner, they were met with empty stares of naked marble statues that Nate found very discomforting. Those things were downright disturbing.

"Looking for a girl?" his father asked, elbowing his son with raised eyebrows and a pleased grin.

"Yeah," Nate lied. There was once a time when he wouldn't have imagined ever lying to his parents, but these days, the fibs slipped out with the ease of water sliding down a waterfall. Most of them were simple white lies, too insignificant to cause him much grief, but now that he was a junior and the many Dartmouth talks, events, and visits were looming ahead, he felt like he was standing on railroad tracks with a freight train rapidly approaching. He had two options: he was going to have to tell his parents the truth about his dream to go to California, or face ascending a mountain of lies that would most likely peak right before his life came crashing down. "Found her," he lied again, attempting to make a swift move to flee the company of his parents and find "the usual" that was waiting patiently for him a plastic baggie. Unfortunately, his mother was too fast for him.

"Which one is she?" she asked, not hiding her reserved interest. She had made it clear that she didn't want Nate following the lengthy trail of girls Chuck had laid out ahead of him, but on the other hand, a girlfriend would only be acceptable if Anne herself said she was. She must have proper looks, etiquette, and breeding.

_Shit,_ Nate thought, his eyes anxiously scanning the patio for a girl who looked put together enough to satisfy his mother.

"Right there," he said quickly, pointing to a lone blond with a sweet face and pink cheeks. "I'm going to go talk to her now!" Nate figured he'd talk to her for a few minutes to satisfy his parents' curiosity before heading off in search of some much-needed weed. If Chuck didn't show, one of his soccer or lacrosse teammates was bound to have some, though they smoked up for reasons very different than Nate's. Nate needed it in a way they didn't. It was release, escape, means of getting out of his own head. Suddenly, he found himself in front of the girl, who up close, appeared much younger than she had through the view of the creepy naked Greek guys. She was twisting a strand of pale blond hair nervously on her finger while simultaneously picking a stray piece of lint off her sky blue strapless dress.

"Hey," Nate began, figuring that once introductions had been taking care of, she would do most of the talking, and he could stand and nod for a little while before making his getaway. "I'm Nate Archibald."

"Jenny Humphrey," she said, sticking out a dainty hand and appearing both relieved and absolutely thrilled that someone was talking to her.

"You're a freshman, right?"

"That obvious?" she answered with a slightly embarrassed laugh. "And I thought I was hiding it _so_ well," she added, voice oozing sarcasm. Nate laughed. She was actually pretty cute.

"Nervous?" he asked her, wondering if she would admit it or if he wasn't the only one willing to throw out a little white lie here and there.

"I'd imagine that's pretty obvious too," she said, smiling warmly. "I haven't been to many parties before, and the ones I've gone to were nothing like this."

"Did you just move to Manhattan?" It seemed unlikely that she would be so unfamiliar with this type of event unless she had. Constance girls and Saint Jude's boys had been dragged to these things since they were in diapers.

"Actually, I live in Brooklyn," she admitted sheepishly. "And cookouts there involve my dad inviting over my obnoxious neighbors and grilling up some hot dogs." Nate grinned at her remark.

"Well, to be honest, I'd much rather be around obnoxious neighbors and eating hot dogs than stuck-up socialites and eating weird food I can't pronounce. I think I might have eaten some snails earlier, but I couldn't really tell, because the guy just told me it tasted like chicken." Jenny laughed, crinkling her button nose, and Nate realized it was one of the most honest things he'd said in a while. Maybe it was easier being truthful with people who didn't know you, who couldn't judge you on anything except the person you were being at that moment, and who had no prior ideas about who you were supposed to be.

"Nathaniel. I see you've started test driving the merchandise without me." Nate rolled his eyes; Jenny's widened in shock.

"It's okay," Nate assured her. "He's just an asshole with manwhore tendencies, and trust me, his bark is worse than his bite."

"That's very true," Chuck said, nodding. "I've been told my bite is quite enjoyable."

"You are disgusting, aren't you?" said Jenny, giggling good-naturedly.

"Very." Chuck began sauntering toward one of the many lavish gardens. "Coming, Nathaniel?" he called. "I have something to make you forget how lame this party is." He patted his jacket pocket tenderly. Nate nodded eagerly in response and saw his parents waving at him in the corner of his eye. They were standing with a stiff, uncomfortable-looking couple who looked even more disdainful than Anne had upon arrival.

"See you around, Jenny," Nate said. "And don't be nervous! All you have to do is give everyone lots of ridiculously nice compliments, and you'll be golden." She smiled and waved goodbye.

"Thanks, Nate! Did I happen to mention your suit is super elegant and brings out your gorgeous blue eyes?" Nate laughed and waved back. It seemed he had made a good pick from across the courtyard.

* * *

Penelope sipped furiously from her drink as she watched Nate and Jenny's interaction unfold from her perch at the outdoor bar. Anne had already shot her down even though her hydrangea comments were proper, accurate, and had been meticulously prepared. Obviously, Anne just didn't want anything to do with her, made clear by the snippy responses and the quick exit she had made to speak to Eleanor Waldorf about the upcoming fall fashions. It seemed none of the Archibalds were willing to give her the time of day. Well, she hadn't tried the Captain, as other Upper East Siders affectionately called him, but she had absolutely nothing planned to speak to him about, and sailing, the only hobby she knew he possessed, was like rocket science to her. But if Jenny-from-the-Brooklyn-block thought that she had a shot with the Golden Boy, she was seriously mistaken. Penelope would make sure of that.

* * *

"Serena?" My mom had only said my name, but I knew exactly what was coming. "I thought I told you to wear the Michael Kors. It was much more appropriate," she continued, eyeing the high hemline of my bright yellow mini. "This is a school function, after all."

"Relax, Mom," I said, looking through the packs of people for two brunettes in particular – Dan, who was probably alone, and my best friend, who was probably surrounded by a crowd of minions so close she could feel their desperate breath on her neck. "This dress is fine! I wore it to a fundraising thing for school last year." Lie. That was a lie. And once it slipped out, others followed, as if the stupid lie was lonely and needed company in its pitiful pit of wrongdoing. "You know, Mom, I think I see Mrs. Lake, and I need to ask her a question about the summer reading." So what if this was the only way I was going to get out of greeting high society couples and their annoying offspring with my mother? It was still lying, still wrong. Right?

"Ah, yes. Have you finished those summer assignments of yours?"

"Yeah, we finished at the Waldorfs' last weekend." Lie. Well, half-lie. One of the "we" had finished them, but that one was not a Van der Woodsen.

"Well, alright then," my mother said, accepting my statement. That was one plus to having an easily distracted and uninvolved parent. "Go on. I suppose I should thank Penelope's parents for hosting…" she continued her monologue of nonsense as she gracefully strode toward the table where Penelope's mother and father were seated, and most of what I heard was criticism of the "tacky" décor, "vulgar" statues, and "presumptuous" fountains. I rolled my eyes, though I did agree with my mother's analysis. The place was pretty tacky, vulgar, and presumptuous. I then moved out in search of a boy from Brooklyn, and as predicted, he was standing alone when I found him, looking completely self-conscious and holding a flute of a tropical drink he wasn't quite sure what to do with.

"Dan!" I called and felt my stomach churn in excitement when he broke into a wide grin. "I am _so _glad you're here!"

"Me too," he said, still holding his untouched drink. "Actually, that's not true," he admitted with a chuckle. "I have no idea how I'm supposed to act or what to do at these things, so I always end up hiding in the bathroom until my dad finds me and drags me home. It's happened the past two years at Penelope's." Realizing he'd probably let his mouth get carried away, he quickly snapped it shut, but I simply laughed in reply to his confession.

"I hate them too!" I exclaimed, hoping to relieve some of his embarrassment. "Once, I wanted to leave one of my mom's brunches so bad, I purposely poured her tomato juice all over my dress, so I'd have an excuse to escape to my room!" Dan laughed, grateful that there was at least someone here who wasn't caught up in this snooty, rich people party scene.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he asked, much to my surprise, but I was more than willing to accept, whether he was planning on taking me to a five star restaurant in the Upper East Side or a bowling alley in Brooklyn. Actually, when I thought about it…

"How about some bowling?" I asked. "But, I have to warn you, I bowl a _mean_ gutter ball." I smiled widely and saw the same smile reflected back at me.

"Really? You want to?" He seemed as astonished by my acceptance as I was at his suggestion.

"Let's go!" I shouted, grabbing his arm and heading for the exit. "But you have to put down that drink! They don't like it when you steal the crystal!"

* * *

"Have you seen her yet?" Nate asked Chuck, taking a long drag of the joint his best friend had so kindly brought for him.

"No, but I'm looking. She was wearing a mask, which could obviously complicate things, but I'm almost positive I'll still recognize her." Chuck's dark, slanted eyes scanned the students, teachers, and parents, lingering on each brunette that captured his gaze.

"Looking for someone in particular?" Chuck turned his head toward the voice. _Her_ voice. It was unmistakably, absolutely her. Her chocolate curls hung loosely at her shoulders, and a silky white bow was tied on the top of her head. She wore a sleeveless, lacey white dress that nipped in at her tiny waist and flared at her hips, and her lips were painted a delicious-looking ruby red. "I'm Blair Waldorf," she said, offering a small, pale hand to his. "Have we met before? You look familiar." It was a moment before Chuck realized that she was repeating the words he had spoken to her the first night they'd met. "You know what?" she continued, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously. "We must not have met, because I'm sure you would remember meeting me." She smirked, and Chuck took her hand carefully, causing both to feel a volt of electricity shoot through their veins. He pressed her small hand softly to his lips, and her dewy brown eyes widened.

"Is that so?" he asked her huskily, figuring he may as well answer her with _her_ own words.

"Yes," she breathed.

"What made you change your mind about telling me your name?" he asked, ready to cut to the chase, but not ready to let go of the hand he was still holding, the one that was sending searing waves of heat through his system.

"Better you hear it from me than someone else, and it was only a matter of time before you learned it on your own, considering you're going to Saint Jude's now." She shrugged her shoulders casually and not so casually snatched her hand from his grip as she saw her mother approach.

"Blair, dear, what _are_ you doing?"

"Just talking, Mother," she answered innocently. "Chuck's new to Saint Jude's and I was just telling him about how good the soccer team is going to be this year." Today, it seemed all Upper East Side teenagers were lying to their parents.

"I was speaking with your father earlier, Chuck," Eleanor said, not bothering with introductions and instead preferring to shift her attention to the young Bass, who she was sure already knew who she was. "He said you are beginning school at Saint Jude's in order to turn over a new leaf."

"That's correct, Mrs. Waldorf," Chuck answered politely, turning on the charisma. "And I'm very lucky to have people like Blair to help me to do so." Chuck cast a private smirk in Blair's direction, which she responded to with a signature eye roll and a small, but genuine, smile.

"Yes, well," Eleanor replied, "Blair could use some improvement herself if she is really serious about attending Yale." She cast a glance at Blair that implied obvious disapproval, and Chuck felt a flash of anger at her words.

"Well, I think she's perfect," he blurted before grasping how he sounded – desperate and infatuated, both of which he was and were completely accurate adjectives, but he didn't want Blair or anyone else to know it. He avoided looking at her and consequentially missed the roses that rapidly bloomed on her cheeks.

Eleanor gave him only a half-hearted, "Hmpf," in answer to his statement, and swooped in front of Blair to lead her away. "Goodbye and good luck, Chuck. I do hope you don't let your father down. I know what it feels like to be disappointed in your children. Now, we must be going, Blair, because you have an important breakfast with a Yale alum tomorrow morning, and you need your rest. I mean, good Lord, dear, those bags under your eyes are positively disgraceful." Eleanor's voice gradually faded away, as did Blair's quiet "Yes, Mother"s and even softer sighs.

"She's as bad as Bart," Chuck heard Nate say beside him. "Didn't know it was possible."

"Every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way," Chuck responded, already knowing Nate would miss the Tolstoy reference. Chuck may have not worked hard at his schoolwork, but he did enjoy literature, unlike Nate, whose last attempt at reading involved getting through a few pages of _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_ before giving up and watching the movie. Later, Nate claimed it was because he wanted to hear the dialogue in the British accents because it was cooler that way, and Chuck being the good friend that he was, accepted the flimsy explanation.

"That's very true," Nate said bitterly with a sigh. "Did you make that up?"

"Yes, I did," answered Chuck. What was the point in having a gullible blond for a best friend if you didn't take advantage of him every once in a while?

"Mind if I use it sometime?"

"Not at all, Nathaniel. Not at all."

* * *

A/N: I know this chapter is way longer than all the others, but I liked writing it that way, so I think I'll probably stick to it! You can expect this length from now on, though I'm not sure if the update frequency will be affected. I'm going to be optimistic and say you can expect weekly updates, maybe more.

A/N 2: So what did you guys think? I'd love to hear your thoughts, because there was a lot going on simultaneously in this one! Any favorite characters that you would like me to include more?

A/N 3: Oh, and Blair's secret will probably be explored much more in the next chap! Hopefully, that will keep up your interest!


	7. Unravelling

**Chapter 7**

"_The moon is a loyal companion.__  
__It never leaves. It's always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it's a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human.__  
__Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections."__  
__~ Tahereh Mafi, Shatter Me_

"Excuse me, Miss? Would you like some of this? It tastes just like chicken." Jenny giggled at the waiter, recalling her earlier conversation with Nate and his theory that the mysterious food was snails.

"Is it snails?" she asked, imagining the look on Nate's face if the waiter confirmed it.

"Yes. A French delicacy, Miss." Jenny burst out laughing again and politely declined the escargot he held on his tray. So what if it was a delicacy? That stuff looked _gross_, and her father's hot dogs actually sounded pretty good at the moment.

"Jenny Humphrey." Jenny turned and found herself facing Penelope, who looked completely livid. Was it for refusing to eat the snails? Because she would eat a hundred of the slimy things if that's what it was going to take for acceptance. But the conversation took a different turn. "What's going on between you and Nate Archibald? And don't even think about lying."

"Nothing!" Jenny assured her immediately, hoping the desperation in her voice wouldn't give Penelope reason to doubt her. "I think he felt bad for me, because I was standing by myself, so he came up and talked to me for a few minutes. That's it, honestly."

"Well, I will feel bad for you if you ever talk to him again, because if you do, you'll be _destroyed_. I mean it, Little J."

"I won't. I promise!" Jenny abandoned any thoughts she had about telling Nate of her discovery that the chicken-tasting substance was made of snails as he had suspected. Given the choice between a guy she had talked to for five minutes, charming as he was, and a chance of being in the most popular group at school, Jenny knew there was no competition.

"Good," Penelope said curtly. "Nice dress by the way," she added, grazing her eyes appraisingly over Jenny's strapless blue dress. "Is it Stella?"

"Mi-Michael Kors," Jenny managed, astounded and a bit concerned by Penelope's ability to shift from crazy, jealous bitch to complimentary party hostess in only a matter of seconds. Honestly, she didn't know which of the two personalities scared her more.

* * *

"Oh my God! Did I just beat you at bowling?" I laughed at my dark-haired counterpart who was currently looking adorably embarrassed by his loss.

"I think I may have just set the record for most gutter balls ever in a round of bowling. I know you said you roll a mean gutter ball, but I think I have you beat in that department at least." He shook his head and ran a hand through his short black hair. "What was my score, again?"

"Thirty-nine," I supplied with a smile. "But hey! It's not like I did much better. Scoring a forty-six is pretty lousy too." He chuckled, nodding in agreement.

"I guess we're both lousy bowlers, but at least we gave those eight-year-olds next to us a good laugh. That's a plus, right? Even though that one kid attempted to drop his bowling ball on my foot. Twice."

"Twice? I thought he only tried that once!"

"Well, luckily he was distracted by you laughing as you demonstrated Granny-style bowling for me during his second attempt. Actually, I think everyone in the bowling alley stopped to look at you it was so loud." He chuckled, remembering how I had peeked at him from behind my curtain of golden hair to make sure he was watching me bowl attentively as I knocked down a grand total of three pins with the "Granny."

"Do you find my laugh as adorable as I find yours?" I asked, batting my eyelashes while simultaneously offering him a dose of my best puppy dog eyes.

"Absolutely," he responded in a mock-serious tone. "I think angels cry from jealousy when they hear your laugh."

"Hey!" I said, smacking his arm for good measure. "Your words are very hurtful, you know!"

"Serena, your laugh sounds like a four-year-old." I pouted and crossed my arms over my chest. "But," he continued, grinning, "_I_ think it's adorable, no matter how much it annoys our fellow bowlers. Honest. I'll even give you my scout's honor."

"_You_ were a boy scout?" I asked incredulously. I couldn't picture Dan out in the wilderness in a tent. I could only picture him being in the woods if he was running away from a bear. Or a raccoon.

"Briefly. I thought it was a good idea to join after I read _Hatchet, _but then one of the older kids set my hair on fire while I was reading the manual on_ how_ to build a fire, and I decided it was probably for the best that I end my scouting days." I giggled and tousled his short hair teasingly.

"I have to agree with you on that one. I don't think you could pull off being bald. Now let's go before they kick us out for disrespecting the game of bowling!"

* * *

Blair stared at her reflection in the mirror. She brought her head forward until the bridge of her nose was nearly touching the cold glass. Her mother was right. Despite her attempts to conceal the deep shadows haunting her under eyes, a purple tinge continued to fight its way through every type of makeup she tried, as if her secret didn't want to be kept hidden either. But she didn't have a choice. If people knew the truth, that's all they would think of when they heard her name or saw her walk by. And the whispers. God, the whispers would be torturous. The dark, parasitical secret had already taken over her internally – it infected her brain, her heart, her ability to sleep at night… She wouldn't be able to bear it if it took over her external life as well.

Blair pulled out her phone to listen to the messages on her voicemail. There was a vaguely annoyed one from Penelope, who wanted to know why she had disappeared and left the party so early, one from Kati asking if she would _please, please_ consider removing Chuck's boxers from the scavenger hunt list because it was _way, way _too hard, and finally, a day old message from her mother reminding her not to gain any weight because she needed her for dress samples next week. Blair erased all three and sighed, climbing up onto the counter and crossing her legs Indian-style, a sight that would have horrified Eleanor. She leaned the back of her head against the glass and let her eyes flutter shut.

_"Well, I think she's perfect!"_

Chuck's words echoed through her head. No one had called her perfect in a long time, not since _it _happened. Chuck was just another person who would inevitably be disappointed by the realization that she was far from perfect, far from put together, unless she kept him at a safe distance. Every day captured an illusion of Blair Waldorf, the version she wanted everyone, including Chuck, to see, but the nights knew her better.

"_Je vois la lune, et la lune me voit; que Dieu bénisse la lune, et Dieu me bénisse!"_

"_Je t'aime à la lune et retour, vous savez."_

At night, she couldn't escape from any of it. The inky black sky was writing her life for her, reaching its staining ebony claws into every aspect of her it could, and it had been successful in affecting her. She _was_ stained, permanently marked by a night nearly a year ago, a night when there had been no stars, only a full bright moon… She opened her eyes when she felt the hotness of tears, a sharp, noticeable contrast to the coldness of her white cheeks. She was so fucked up, and she never forgot it at night, because the moon never failed to remind her. She furiously wiped the tears away. She already looked like she was suffering from two black eyes, and adding splotches of redness and puffiness would not do. She needed Yale, and she had to make a good impression. Yale was the future, yes, but more than that, it was Blair's way of escaping the past. Or perhaps she was kidding herself. Perhaps she couldn't escape it, couldn't run away. It wasn't like she could outrun the moon or the stars. They would still be everywhere she went, always by her side, in front of her, and behind her all at once. And in New Haven, they would be too - maybe a different angle, or a little farther, or a fraction closer, but there. Always, always there.

* * *

2:14 A.M. the clock read.

"Ugh," Chuck groaned, stuffing a pillow on top of his face in frustration until he couldn't breathe anymore. He threw it to the wall, gasping for air, and grabbed the bottle of scotch he had concealed under his bed. He could always count on alcohol when he had problems. It couldn't get pissed at him when he fucked up. It never changed. It never left the places where he had put it. It was just there, and that was comforting to know. It had gotten him through many years of living with Bart and never failed to make him feel at least a little better about himself and whatever mistake he had made that time. But now, as the fiery substance shot down his throat and slid into his stomach, it didn't make him feel better. At all. He just felt vacant, the kind of feeling that sneaks up on you. You go through life thinking you're whole, and then all of a sudden, you're not. And the worst part is, you never even realize there's something missing until the hole is so big, you wonder how you managed to survive without that _something_ for so long. How you didn't notice the hole was there.

Chuck dropped the bottle on a pile of dirty clothes he was also stashing under the bed due to his skepticism of the maid's trustworthiness. He swore the maid had taken his navy Armani suit to give to her husband and now had all of his laundry sent to a private dry cleaning service, much to his father's annoyance. Actually, knowing Bart, he'd probably been the one to take the suit after he heard the maid moaning about how they couldn't go to her cousin's wedding because they couldn't afford to buy anything appropriate to wear. Chuck shook his head. Slimy bastard of a father.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had his phone in his hand and was scrolling to Blair's contact, which he actually had listed as "Blair" now. Blair Waldorf. Blair Waldorf. Blair, Blair, Blair. He couldn't stop thinking about her. One text couldn't hurt, could it? He'd already made a fool out of himself at Penelope's yesterday, and he didn't care to repeat his mistake. So it needed to be something casual, not romantic or emotional - in other words, the complete opposite of "Well, I think she's perfect!" Chuck inwardly cringed at the memory and began typing, letting his fingers fly across the keys and not particularly paying attention to which ones they were hitting.

"Thinking of you," he had typed. Oh God, what was he turning into? He deserved to be in a fucking Matthew McConaughey romantic comedy. Chuck deleted the letters as quickly as they had appeared until he once again faced a white screen, devoid of all emotions, all questions, and all answers. Maybe he could ask her something about Saint Jude's. The soccer team? No, she would see right through that. She already knew he was best friends with Nate, one of the starters. He could ask for a tour of the school. No. Lame. He scratched his head wondering how it was possible for one woman to throw him completely off his game. He started tapping the keys again and looked at the end result.

"Dinner tonight?" He nodded with approval. It would do. It was simple, nonchalant, and if she said yes, it meant he would get to see her again. If she said no, it was vague enough that he could claim he sent it to the wrong person, or he could simply cast off her rejection like it was no big deal. He glanced at his clock again. 2:37 A.M. She would probably think he was insane if he sent it now, but it was her fault he couldn't sleep, and a small part of him unconsciously wanted her to know it. So he pushed the "Send" button and decided he might as well retrieve that bottle of scotch, even if it wasn't going to improve his mood. It would still keep him company, and if he drank enough, maybe he would pass out and get some much-needed shuteye.

* * *

Sep 3, 2007 2:37 A.M.

**Blair: **What are you doing up so late, Bass? Oh, wait. This is probably early for you.

**Chuck: **I could ask you the same question, Waldorf. Watching reruns of _SVU_ alone, I presume? Not the best use of a Sunday night in my opinion.

**Blair:** You could only know that it's on if you're watching it too.

**Chuck: **Not true. It's always on.

**Blair: **You _are_ watching it!

**Chuck: **Am not!

**Blair: **No judgment here, Bass. I will admit to watching it because I can always predict what's going to happen in the end.

**Chuck: **If you know what's going to happen, why watch it?

**Blair: **I actually like knowing how things are going to turn out. That, and being right all the time. Why do _you _watch it?

**Chuck: **Detective Benson's hot.

**Blair: **I'd be lying if I said I was surprised.

**Chuck: **What can I say? I'm attracted to powerful females.

**Blair: **You know Stabler's not bad, either. Did you see him throw that punch?

**Chuck: **You can't be serious! He's half-bald!

**Blair: **What can I say? I'm attracted to powerful males. Even ones that suffer from a little male-pattern balding.

**Chuck: **A little? Did you just see that angle of his head? That is not a little!

**Blair: **So you admit that you're watching it!

**Chuck: **Oh. I guess I just did, didn't I?

**Blair: **It's the creepy stepfather. He totally did it.

**Chuck: **Well thanks for ruining it for me, Waldorf. Might as well turn it off now.

**Blair: **Like you didn't see that coming. Besides, I thought you watched it because Olivia's hot?

**Chuck:** So maybe I tend to get a _little_ emotionally invested in the storylines...

**Blair: **Chuck Bass has a sentimental side. Who knew?

**Chuck: **Didn't know myself until Olivia made her way into in my heart.

**Blair: **Very funny...

**Blair:** I told you it was the stepdad!

**Chuck: **You do love being right, don't you?

**Blair: **More than anything.

**Chuck: **Then why don't you guess where I'm going to take you to dinner, and I'll tell you if you're right?

**Blair: **I don't remember accepting your invitation…

**Chuck: **Well then guess where I _want_ to take you.

**Blair: **Hm… Nobu?

**Chuck: **How did you know?

**Blair: **Please. You would have said that if I'd guessed Applebee's.

**Chuck:** Probably. But will you go?

**Blair: **Only if you guess the next _SVU _ending correctly.

**Chuck: **You have yourself a deal, Waldorf.

Sep 3, 2007 3:33 A.M.

**Chuck: **It's the twin sister.

**Blair: **Looks like we're going to Nobu tonight.

**Chuck: **8 o'clock. Don't be late, Waldorf!

**Blair: **I'm never late. See you at 8 on the dot.

**Chuck: **Good night, Blair.

**Blair: **Good night, Chuck.

Sep 3, 2007 5:01 A.M.

**Chuck: **You still awake?

**Blair: **No.

**Chuck: **That was a good episode.

**Blair: **Of course you liked it. It was about prostitutes.

**Chuck: **That's very offensive.

**Blair: **But accurate.

**Chuck: **But accurate.

**Blair: **Go to sleep now.

**Chuck: **Sweet dreams, Waldorf. I'm sure you'll be seeing me in them.

**Blair: **Only in _your _dreams, Bass.

* * *

A couple hours later, when Blair heard footsteps outside her door, she grabbed her sleep mask and got into a position that she hoped would convince her mother or Dorota that she was asleep. These days, it was getting close to impossible to fool Dorota; ever since she caught Blair crying downstairs at 4 A.M. a couple of months ago, she had been leaving warm glasses of milk outside Blair's door, and last week, Blair noticed a sound machine was plugged in by her nightstand and set to ocean waves. Dorota knew Blair's love for the sound, and in a surge of affection, she nearly told Dorota the truth about why she couldn't sleep. The whole, ugly, horrible, disturbing, heartbreaking, tragic, truth. But when she saw the love in Dorota's eyes, she couldn't bring herself to do it. She didn't ever want to see those warm brown eyes turn cold, and Blair knew they would if she told Dorota her secret. Not to mention, Dorota would never be able to keep it from Eleanor.

"Miss Blair? Wake up, Miss Blair!" Good. If Dorota was waking her, that meant her mother trusted Blair to get ready on her own. "How you sleep last night?" she asked worriedly.

"Excellent, Dorota," Blair said, hating herself for lying to the one adult who truly loved her and she loved in return. "I'm ready for my very important breakfast." That at least was the truth. She reached into the top drawer of her nightstand and pulled out a thick stack of note cards, each of which was written upon in neat, color-coded print.

"Conversation topics?" asked Dorota with a knowing look.

"Of course. Categorized by topics such as academics, hobbies, personality traits, and so on, and then by subtopic. All are organized alphabetically, obviously."

"Sound very complicated, Miss Blair. But very impressive."

"Thank you, Dorota. Now, will you please fetch my Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress for me? I need to start dressing."

"The green one?"

"Emerald," Blair corrected her. "Wearing green sounds so plain, so common. Emerald, however, sounds royal and powerful, exactly how I want to come across today in front of the Yale board member."

"I know you strong and royal, Miss Blair," said Dorota, tying the ties of the wrap dress tightly around Blair's tiny midsection. "You already Queen B of New York."

"True," Blair agreed, nodding, as she cast an affectionate smile in her maid's direction. "But now I have to prove that I can be a queen of New Haven just as successfully."

"You will, Miss Blair!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dorota, but it's not you I have to convince."

"She's right, Dorota," her mother chimed in without warning. She held a steaming mug of coffee in her hands and sipped it gracefully as she entered Blair's bedroom. "And it's not just a little convincing," she continued. "Serena's mother told me she has already been guaranteed a place at Brown, and Anne Archibald said the same about her son, Nate, with Dartmouth. Now, why is it that these children have already fulfilled their parents wishes and you are continually selfish, barely making an effort to achieve mine?"

"That not true, Miss Eleanor," Dorota argued, defending her Miss Blair. "Miss Blair work very hard at school."

"Yes, well, it's not her academics that are the issue here."

"What's the issue, Mother?" Blair said calmly, trying to hold back tears._ Don't you dare cry, Blair Waldorf_, she thought. _Don't you dare._

"Well, dear, I'm afraid your personality is a bit…bland, unlike your friend Serena, who is charming, lively, and fun, qualities that colleges are attracted to in their prospective students. You, unfortunately, will probably end up at the bottom of the pile of applicants." She sighed as if it was _her_ that was being cast into the bottomless depths of paper. "You just don't have that je ne sais quoi I see in Serena." Eleanor cut off her monologue when Blair began to cry softly, unable to keep the tears at bay any longer. "There's no need to _cry _about it," Eleanor chastised, exasperated with her dramatic daughter. "It's not like there's _no _hope. Now finish getting ready, and for goodness sakes, cover up those awful bags under your eyes!" With that, Eleanor exited Blair's room and went downstairs to make a conference call to Paris. Blair wished her mother were _in _Paris. Things were so much worse with her home in New York.

"I'm sorry, Miss Blair," she heard Dorota say as she wrapped her into a kind and familiar embrace. Blair let herself be held for a few moments before breaking the hug and returning to the Blair she needed to be – Strong Blair, who liked to pretend that Weak Blair didn't exist.

"You heard her, Dorota! Help me do my makeup, so I can get these bags covered up!"

"Yes, Miss Blair," Dorota said softly, recognizing the transition Blair forced herself to make every time the sun rose.

* * *

At 6:00, I received an urgent text message from Blair, who claimed she needed me _immediately._ I caught a cab to the Waldorf penthouse, not sure what was in store for me, and was greeted by a frantic Dorota as soon as I exited the elevator.

"Miss Serena, thank goodness! Miss Blair _very _upset! _Freaking out!_"

"I'll go up now," I said, racing up the stairs to Blair's room two at a time. Her bedroom was in complete disarray. It looked like a hurricane had ravaged through, only instead of water, it had rained couture worth the GDP of a small country. "What's going on, B?" I asked, worried that it would be something to do with a comment Eleanor had made about her size. I had already caught Blair sticking her fingers down her throat once, and I never wanted to see that again. "Is this about your mom?"

"My mother?" Blair looked baffled. "God, no. Why would you think that? Never mind, don't answer that. This is about me having _nothing _to wear!" She threw up her hands in irritation, as if showing me the evidence that proved her statement.

"B, what do you mean? You have the best wardrobe of anyone I know! Every girl at our school would _kill _for it!"

"And as if my clothes weren't bad enough," she moaned, largely ignoring my comment. "My shoes are just as hideous! What am I going to do? I don't have time to go to Bergdorf's _and_ get ready…" She trailed off as if just remembering that I was still standing there, one foot on Versace and the other on Jason Wu.

"You know, B," I said, trying to pick up my feet and shuffle them carefully into a position where my heels would no longer be digging into garments worth thousands of dollars. "I think – " I was cut off as I tripped over the side of Blair's dresser in my attempt to avoid a mountain of Louboutins and other various shoes. While my upper body was rescued by a mountain range of skirts, my left leg wasn't so lucky and instead landed on top of a spiked Jimmy Choo. "Ow!" I yelped as Blair burst into fits of laughter at my fall. "Blair Cornelia Waldorf, this is not funny!" I shouted. "I'm_ bleeding_!" Blair just continued to cackle at a higher decibel as I pointed at the small trickle of blood running down my leg. "I could sue you for this! You know, I think I will! You will be hearing from my lawyer!" By this point, I could no longer hide my own grin, and I latched onto Blair for support to keep from falling back onto the treacherous floor. Eventually, our laughter subsided, and I unclenched my hand from her shoulder.

"You were saying?" she asked me, a sardonic smirk on her face.

"Shut up," I said, elbowing her lightly. "Do you want my help or not?"

"Yes!" she shouted, knocking a pair of black pumps in the wake of her zealous reaction. "Look at this stuff! It's disgraceful!"

"Okay, well first of all, if I ever hear you imply that Chanel, even last season Chanel, is disgraceful ever again, then we're not friends anymore. Second, I meant it when I said that you have the best wardrobe of anyone I know. We'll find something!" Blair looked skeptical.

"I'm sorry, but I beg to differ. This stuff _is _disgraceful. Except the Chanel!" she added quickly as I proceeded to walk out of the room.

"Where is it that you're going that is causing you to hate your clothes?"

"And shoes," she grumbled. "Don't forget the shoes. They're equally atrocious."

"Blair," I pushed.

"It's not _where_ I'm going, S," she said, with a slight flush to her cheeks. "It's _who _I'm going with." She looked in the mirror and touched her cheeks, which were now a bright crimson. "Oh, God! I'm so embarrassing. I'm embarrassing myself right now, and I'm going to embarrass myself tonight. I am so sorry you have to witness this disaster, S." She stuck her head in her hands and sunk onto the one bare spot on her duvet.

"B!" Realization struck me. "It's Chuck! Oh my God, it's him isn't it? You're going out with him!" I danced around her room, cautiously of course. Blair, however, didn't look up, instead opting to go with a simple nod while keeping her head cradled in her palms. "Don't be embarrassed, B! You just like him, that's all! This is totally normal," I assured her, recounting the twisting pit of nerves I'd had in my stomach around Dan at the bowling alley. She finally raised her head to gaze at me, and I suddenly understood that she wasn't just a little worried.

"S?" she whispered. "What if he doesn't like me back? I don't think I can deal with rejection right now." Her eyes were wide and shiny with fear.

"Oh, B," I said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "He'd be crazy not to! Besides, you know he liked you enough to track down your phone number, and whenever you interact, it's like there's an electric current in the air. I could practically feel the waves coming off you guys the first night you met." Blair nodded along with my words as if confirming each statement I made. She chewed her lip as I dug through the piles she had laid out. I squealed when I spotted a vintage Dior in the corner of her room.

"Gorgeous!" I shoved it in front of Blair's face, and she abruptly broke into a smile.

"I suppose that will do," she said, still grinning happily. "Thanks, S." I knew when she said it that it wasn't just the discovery of the Dior she was grateful for.

"Anytime you need me, B, I'll always be here."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

* * *

A/N: So if you are confused about what Blair's secret is, don't worry! You're supposed to be! I haven't exactly decided how I'm going to reveal it, maybe a nightmare, or her finally recounting it to another character? It remains to be seen...

A/N 2: Due to the requests for more Chuck/Blair, I made this chapter almost all them! I loved writing their text conversation, so that's probably my favorite part of it. I'm curious to know what yours was...

A/N 3: So, any other thoughts? Opinions? Ideas for how the heck I'm going to reveal Blair's secret? I'd love to hear some!


	8. Revealing

A/N: I'm going to warn you right now that I didn't read over this once, so there are most likely multiple errors in it. But it's really okay with me, because I am dead tired and don't feel like editing.

A/N 2: Okay so this is the moment we've been waiting for - C/B's first date! I hope it lives up to your expectations. And now, without further ado...

* * *

**Chapter 8**

"_I would give the greatest sunset in the world for one sight of New York's skyline. Particularly when one can't see the details. Just the shapes. The shapes and the thought that made them. The sky over New York and the will of man made visible. What other religion do we need? And then people tell me about pilgrimages to some dank pesthole in a jungle where they go to do homage to a crumbling temple, to a leering stone monster with a pot belly, created by some leprous savage. Is it beauty and genius they want to see? Do they seek a sense of the sublime? Let them come to New York, stand on the shore of the Hudson, look and kneel.__  
__~ Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead_

_"Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."__  
__~ William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet_

Chuck cautiously glanced at his watch for the hundredth time in the past ten minutes, fearing that it would inform him in indisputable black and white that it was a minute past eight. 7:58 P.M. Relief flooded his system for a moment, but the unease quickly clawed its way into the center of his nervous system once again, a horrible monster that fed off of itself and knew no limits to its growth. In spite of her earlier promise ("See you at 8 on the dot," she'd wrote him), he could feel his palms getting clammy, a slick sign of trepidation, his stomach twisting in strange shapes, and his heart thrashing frantically in his chest. He tore his eyes away from the face of his watch, whose simple, constant ticking was somehow managing to turn him into a madman. _Tick._ She wasn't going to show. _Tick. _Obviously, he'd overestimated her feelings for him. _Tick. _And he'd been a fool to have them for _her_ in the first place. _Tick._ Feelings were obviously made for fools - idiotic, delusional, idealistic, ridiculous...

"Would you quit staring at your watch like you're possessed? Did you really think I wouldn't show?" ...fantastic, wonderful, beautiful, brilliantly foolish fools. _Tick._ Her silky chocolate tresses created a waterfall of cascading curls over her shoulder. _Tick. _Her crimson Cupid's bow lips matched flawlessly with her equally enticing dress, causing Chuck's mouth to water with desire. _Tick_. The lace of the dress brushed softly against her throat, blood red on snow white, before plunging to expose a tempting shadow of décolletage. _Tick. _The fabric extended down the length of her body, emphasizing her little waist and each womanly curve while at the same time retaining its fluidity, creating a red exclamation point screaming with pleasure. _Tick. _Her exclamation point was suddenly roping itself in loops around Chuck's chest, which felt so tight, he feared that he had lost all ability to breathe._ Tick. _It was several seconds before he realized that she'd asked him a question – two actually – but he supposed he'd already answered the first one with the fact that he was now incapable of looking away from her, the watch all but forgotten and only the time it told remembered.

"Blair," he breathed. "You look –"

"I know," she said, smiling coquettishly, her teeth gleaming white in the low lighting. "So do you." She took in his crisp suit, the red pocket square and bowtie providing severe contrast to the rich black of his jacket, shirt, and pants. His eyes, while nearly as dark as the majority of his ensemble, seemed to Blair in that moment to match more closely with his red accents – all emitted smoldering flames of desire and passion, and the heat radiated the room, enveloping Blair in every nook and cranny of her body. "Aren't you going to ask me to sit?" She felt as if she would faint if she had to stand for too much longer, but he didn't need to know that, of course.

"Oh, right," he responded, internally slapping himself for the loss of his manners and for being so worried about impressing her that he was forgetting to impress her. He stood and pulled her chair back a couple feet and gestured to it with his hand. "My lady," he murmured. She gracefully floated into the chair, lightly pushing a stray ringlet aside as she sat. She didn't notice that it immediately fell back out of place, so as Chuck gently tucked her seat under the table, he delicately brushed it to the side, which caused Blair to slightly shudder under the volt of electricity his touch brought on. Some people claimed that the chances of being struck by lightning in a lifetime were one in ten thousand, but Blair knew that either they were wrong or she was breaking the statistic's mold, because she had already been struck by lightning _twice_ in her sixteen years – once at Penelope's cookout when Chuck had held her hand and just now. She could still feel her skin singeing where he'd caressed it and felt as if it must be scarlet and shiny like a blister, or charred to a crispy black, or smoking up in slithering silver tendrils, or _something_… Because how could she be touched like that and _not_ be marked, not have anything to show for it? So it was with a heavy disappointment that she swept the tips of her fingers over her skin and felt the same old, smooth surface as ever, because to be marked by the man in front of her would be worth every ounce of pain she had to endure to have the scars etched into her body.

"Welcome to Nobu. What can I get for you to drink? I can bring over a wine menu if you'd like." Blair was shaken out of her thoughts by the young Japanese waitress, whose grey eyes looked like two slightly slanted underscores broken up by a long, flat nose; however, they were not cast in Blair's direction. In fact, it appeared as if she was using them to mentally undress Chuck, and the question "What can I get for you?" was translated into "What can I _do _for you?" Blair narrowed her own much larger brown eyes at the waitress.

"Well, I don't know if it's a good idea to drink on a first _date_," she said coldly, clearly emphasizing that she and Chuck were here not just together, but _together._ "What do you think, Chuck?"

"I think I'll have a scotch," he replied more to the waitress than to Blair, amused by the likelihood that it would bring her simmering jealousy to a boil. Her red mouth was set in a firm line and she already looked about ready to tear the waitress's tiny eyes out.

"Sure thing, Mr. Bass. I'll bring that right over." The waitress gave Chuck one last look and proceeded to walk off without even bothering to take Blair's order.

"That woman should be fired," Blair announced definitively, keeping her gaze narrow and focused on the waitress's back. "It is completely unprofessional to flirt with customers and downright _rude_ to flirt with ones who are clearly on a date."

"Not to mention, she didn't take your drink order," Chuck contributed in a low drawl, enjoying the jealous side of Blair and continuing her obvious agitation.

"You're right! She didn't!" Blair's words came out as a cross between whining and angry huffing. Not a second later, the waitress glided back to their table, a tumbler of scotch for Chuck in her hand.

"Here you are," she said, thin mouth turned up at the corners in a flirtatious smile. "Have you gotten a chance to look the menu over yet?"

"Yes I have. What about you, Blair?"

"I haven't made up my mind yet," she growled. "But I think I'll be in need of some alcohol, after all." The waitress briefly glanced at an extremely livid Blair Waldorf before placing her eyes back on Chuck.

"Well, let me know if you see something you like," she finished, the barely concealed sexual innuendo smothered in a satiny, accented voice. She flicked her pin straight, so-black-it-was-almost-blue locks over her bony shoulder and flashed Chuck a toothy grin before going to take the order of an older couple across the restaurant.

"She's, she's – " Blair sputtered, fuming in indignation. Her cheeks were flushed and she had her hands clenched so firmly on top of the table that her knuckles were nearly an identical white to the tablecloth. "An incorrigible catastrophe!" she finished tersely at a volume level that attracted a few odd looks from people dining at tables nearby.

"Relax, Waldorf," Chuck told her, realizing that as entertaining as her reaction to the eager waitress's attempt at seduction was, it wasn't a good idea to continue toying with the head of a woman as forceful as Blair. "Trust me, she's not my type."

"What, you don't like desperate whores anymore?" she questioned him, the challenge apparent in her set lips and hard eyes. Chuck laughed, shaking his head back and forth to the rhythm of his ticking watch. Left. _Tick. _Right. _Tick._

"Actually, I'm more into gorgeous brunettes in red dresses these days," he smarmed, causing her eyes to soften just a bit. "Especially ones that are cute when they get jealous."

"Jealous?" she scoffed. "Please, Bass, as if I would ever be _jealous_ of some plebeian waitress who is completely lacking in both manners and class." She unclenched her balled up fists and folded her hands neatly in her lap as if proving that she had both. "And proper hair care," she tacked on with a look of repugnance, noting that the woman's hair really did look like the color of fresh blueberries in the current light.

"So you don't want me to ask for a new waitress then?" Chuck asked, a smirk clearly defining his strong, square jaw. "I mean, if you're not jealous, as you claim," he pushed, "then you wouldn't mind keeping the one we have now, would you? You have to admit, she was _very_ efficient in bringing me my scotch." Blair's lips got even tighter as she realized Chuck had trapped her between a rock and a hard place, a position no one ever got Blair Waldorf in. _No one._ But now, she had no choice but to either admit her jealousy or deal with that rude tramp all evening. Well, fine. She could be indifferent, as long as she got her order in somewhere between all the eye sex the waitress was throwing Chuck. Besides, he had basically told Blair that she had nothing to worry about, so why worry?

"Yes, I suppose she was," Blair conceded, confident that she had made the right decision when she saw the look on Chuck's face.

"You're really okay with this?" He was a little disappointed that she wasn't willing to confess the reason behind her insults of the waitress; however, he was far too impressed with her strong will and boldness to linger on it for long.

"Perfectly," she answered, but her sweet smile didn't take long to melt into a deep frown upon spying their waitress waving at Chuck from another table. "Despicable," she muttered under her breath, but being Blair Waldorf, she had far too much pride to go back on her statement now.

"Have you decided yet?" their waitress asked after returning to their table. _She would be fluttering her eyelashes if she had any,_ Blair thought bitterly.

"Actually, we've decided to switch waitresses," Chuck informed her smoothly. "You understand, of course, that I wouldn't be comfortable tipping someone who doesn't even take the time to ask my date what she'd like to drink." Both Blair and the waitress felt their mouths drop to an open "O" at Chuck's response. The waitress's then compressed into an insulted pout while Blair's expanded into a sardonic smirk.

"Why did you do that?" Blair asked him after the waitress returned to her previous spot in the restaurant. Chuck shrugged his shoulders.

"You were right. She _was_ rude."

"That's not the real reason," Blair argued, sure that he was holding something back. She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"No wonder you like being right," he said, smirking. "It happens all the time, doesn't it?"

"Yes. Now answer the question."

"Alright, alright," said Chuck, raising his hands, palms-up, in surrender. "The real reason is that as amusing as it is to see you with your panties in a twist, I have a feeling it would be much harder for me to get them off that way."

"And the truth comes out," Blair declared, stifling a giggle when she noticed that Chuck was also on the verge of laughter. "You're quite heinous, you know."

"I know."

"And terrible at being charming."

"Know that too." Blair let herself release her laughter at this, and Chuck joined in, finding the musical laugh contagious. Her soprano laughter meshed with that of his bass, and it carried like a melody through the restaurant, bouncing off the walls with each note until finally ending in a decrescendo.

"Excuse me, but are you two ready to order your meals?" Blair quickly assessed their new waitress and was satisfied at the bored and vaguely annoyed expression on her face. Perfect.

"Yes, and I'm going to need a drink as well," she answered.

After they placed their orders (Colorado lamb chops for Chuck, scallops with pepper sauce for Blair), Chuck seized the opportunity to breach a subject he needed to but was nervous about bringing up regardless.

"I know this might seem like a strange request, but would you tell me about your mother?" Blair didn't look upset, but she did look surprised.

"Why would you _want_ to know anything about her?"

"I, uh, know a thing or two about having a parent who's really hard on you, and I was wondering how similar Eleanor is to Bart."

"Your dad?" Chuck nodded in confirmation.

"Yeah. It was his idea to send me to Saint Jude's. He pretends in front of the other parents that he's very confident that I'm going to 'turn over a new leaf,' I think were the words he used with your mother, but I know he's just eagerly anticipating the moment I fuck up once again so he can ship me off to boarding school and hardly see me at all for the next two years. That way, he can schedule business meetings in place of his inconvenient monthly father/son lectures." Chuck laughed the most devastating laugh Blair had ever heard, and she felt her eyes prick with tears as she saw herself in his expression.

"My mother is like that in a way. She constantly expects the worst of me, and even when I do things right, she still acts like they're wrong. I could do everything she ever asked me to, and it still wouldn't be enough, because _I'm _not enough. My looks, my personality, my achievements…And she said as much to the Yale board member this morning at breakfast, practically apologizing in advance for how much of a failure her daughter is." She returned Chuck's mirthless laugh, though hers was far more shrill and staccato.

"You don't believe her, though, do you?"

"Believe what?"

"That you're not enough," he said quietly, avoiding her piercing gaze.

"I – I don't know," she said honestly. No one had ever asked her a question like that before. Sure, she'd seen sympathy in people's faces as they witnessed a signature Eleanor Waldorf cut-down, but no one had ever captured the empathy, the pure understanding, that she heard in Chuck's voice. "I try not to," she continued after a couple seconds had passed in silence, "but sometimes – "

" – it gets to the point where they've said it so many times that you start to believe it in spite of yourself." Blair stared at him dumbly, amazed at his ability to come up with the words her lips couldn't form.

"Exactly," she managed. She then came upon a flicker of inspiration, a thought that could possibly help both of them feel better about their entrapment in loveless family relationships. "But you know what?" she asked, nearly jumping over his soft "What?" in enthusiasm. "You and I can remind each other. That we matter and that we're not failures, and that the vast majority of what our parents say is complete and utter bullshit." He initially looked a bit stunned at her use of a curse word (she was fairly surprised that it had slipped out as well), but after a beat, he sat back and gazed at her in unabashed, unadulterated admiration.

"Blair Waldorf, you may just be the smartest woman I know." He gave her an appreciative look. "And definitely the most attractive," he added, causing her face to flush. But unlike her prior set of crimson cheeks, these were due to flattery rather than fury.

"And you, Chuck Bass, are worth much more than you know. But I have a feeling that it won't be long before all of New York knows just how powerful you are."

"Your meals, Mr. Bass and Miss Waldorf. Enjoy. Or not. I don't particularly care either way." Blair's head dropped as her dish was placed in front of her, and she began to second-guess her sentimental statements, wondering if Chuck would find her comments as ridiculous as she was finding them as they echoed repeatedly through her thoughts.

"I hope so," he said finally in response, lifting a forkful of fresh, mouth-watering lamb to the corner of his mouth. "And thank you, Waldorf. It's nice knowing someone believes in me." Blair smiled genuinely, partly out of the successful avoidance of any awkwardness and embarrassment, but mostly due to the pleasure of granting him even the smallest slice of happiness. They ate their food slowly, not bringing up any more serious topics, instead choosing to discuss their upcoming classes, how difficult they expected junior year to be (Blair promised to tutor him in trig; he made no such promises for her with her worst subject – physics), movies they'd seen recently (Blair had fallen in love with the tragic romance of _Atonement_; Chuck talked about _The Bourne Ultimatum_,which Blair only stomached out of her appreciation for Matt Damon), and of course, their two blond best friends. Chuck, leaving out the context of the story, recounted Nate's reaction to his _Anna Karenina_ reference, causing Blair to nearly snort out her wine in laughter. When their waitress brought them the bill, Chuck immediately pulled out his wallet, and without a word of discussion, stuck a black plastic card into the case in which the bill was safely enclosed. Blair inwardly smiled in approval. The last time she'd been on a date (a double date with Serena and two of Serena's less-than-proper male acquaintances), she had been left to pay for all four meals while the other three left to go to a club to get wasted. And while Blair considered her self a strong proponent of feminist ideals, there were a few things she made exceptions with, and this was one of them. The man should _always _pay on the first date.

"You're not even going to give me the chance to fake dig out my wallet?" asked Blair with a glowing grin.

"No," he said simply. "The man should always pay on the first date." Her smile stretched so wide, she felt like it might just slide off her face. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," she responded, ready to get out of the restaurant but reluctant to leave Chuck and go back to reality. She wasn't ready for whatever this was to end.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to make a pit stop on the way home," he told her as they slipped into the cool leather seats of his limo. She instantly agreed, simply for the chance to be in his pleasurable company for a few minutes more, getting to bask in the warmth of his sun before she had to be reminded of the presence of the moon in the night sky. Her brows furrowed in confusion as they rolled to a stop in front of one of the most famous sights in the world.

"The Empire State Building?"

"Ever been to the top?" he asked, a smirk evident on his face, even in the semi-darkness of the limo. How he had managed to secure them access to the top floor of the Empire State Building on such late notice was beyond Blair's comprehension.

"No, actually," she admitted. She'd constantly claimed that it was far too touristy an activity, and besides, she didn't want to be in close proximity to anyone who could possibly be wearing crocs, "jorts," Uggs, or socks with sandals (and all were almost guaranteed when it came to tourists). "But I've always wanted to." She knew it was true as soon as it left her mouth. Her disdain had simply hidden her desire. She and Chuck walked side-by-side into a building that was probably quite intimidating for those who hadn't grown up on the streets of Manhattan. She and Chuck were led into a private elevator after Chuck explained who he was and apologized for being a few minutes late. Blair then watched, a giddy giggle threatening to burst out of her, as the floor number on the elevator's lighted display went higher, higher, and higher still until finally coming to a stop on the 86th floor.

"My lady," Chuck said for the second time that night, but in place of a seat, he offered her his arm. Blair Waldorf was stuck by lightning for the third time in her young life as she gratefully took it, letting bare skin meet satiny black fabric that could conceal Chuck's skin to the eye but not to the touch. It was able to burn and electrify Blair's small arm even through layers of clothing. They reached a glass door that Chuck expertly pushed open, and their arms remained locked together, a connection no key could unlock, as they stepped out into the night.

"Oh my God," Blair whispered. She didn't know how to explain the sight in front of her – at first she saw the outlines of the city she knew by heart, the twinkling blue, yellow, and white lights that created the highlights of Manhattan's silhouette, but soon, the sharp lines evaded her perception, and it turned into an inky ocean, spotted with stars and planets whose lights refracted over the surface of the water. The beauty and serenity of it crashed over her in waves and she heard herself gasp aloud.

"Pretty incredible, isn't it?" Though Chuck had seen the sight many times over the years, it still amazed him. Each time he ascended the elevator, he feared that this would be the time the view lost its magic, its ability to make him feel like the king of New York City, but somehow, it never did.

"Yes, incredible." Blair nodded enthusiastically. _Tick. _Nod. _Tick_. Nod. The seconds continued to pass, but their awe at the majestic vantage point of their beloved city didn't fade. "I could look at this forever," Blair said, breaking the silence.

"Me too. I used to come here all the time as a kid. Whenever Bart had just yelled at me about something, or when I knew he was _about_ to yell at me about something, I'd ride up here in the elevator and stare out for hours. I almost got frostbite a couple times in the winter, and I remember one Christmas Eve – "

"You were up here on Christmas Eve?" Blair looked appalled. As bad as Bart sounded, she still couldn't imagine a father not caring about being with his son on the best holiday of the year.

"I'd accidently knocked over the Christmas tree and broken half the ornaments, and I was the one who'd insisted on having one in the first place. Bart only agreed because he thought it would send a strong message of the importance of family life to the investors he was having over for dinner one night that week."

"That's awful."

"That's Bart. And I knew that he would be furious when he found out what I'd done, so I came here to escape, and an old lady ended up yelling at me, all concerned about how I needed to go home to my family because it was Christmas Eve."

"Was she alone too?"

"Yeah. And I ended up listening to her, but not before I'd bought her the fur coat I'd seen her admiring on a rich tourist and bringing it up to her myself."

"Wow. That was thoughtful of you." Blair had heard a lot of nasty gossip about Chuck Bass over the years, but with every passing moment, she found herself distancing the man in front of her from every story, accusation, wild claim, and gossip column article she'd ever heard or read about. Because the Chuck Bass she was standing next to, the one with her on top of the world, really _was_ worth far more than he knew.

"I went the next Christmas Eve," he said quietly. "But she wasn't there. I hadn't realized how much I didn't want to be alone that night until I knew I was."

"Well you're not alone anymore," Blair whispered, letting her fingers gently stroke the length of his jaw line. "I'll come up here with you anytime you want me to."

"Do you mean that?" Usually, Chuck Bass had an uncanny ability to straddle the line between man and boy – his sexual antics, boozing, throaty voice, and intimidating aura all placed him on the side of man, while his charm, false innocence, and flashy dress made him out to be more of a boy. But at this moment, the expression on his face couldn't possibly be anything _other_ than that of a boy, and there was no trace of an adult in his vulnerable eyes. Blair felt her heart ache, and she wished more than anything to take the pain out of them.

"I do," she murmured. _Kiss me_, she begged him silently, _and I promise, I'll make everything okay. I'll fix you, even if I can't fix myself._ Perhaps Chuck really could read her thoughts, because he suddenly cradled her head in his warm hands and gently placed his lips on hers. Chuck knew as he kissed her that there was no denying the origin of the fluttering feeling in his stomach anymore. Butterflies were flapping their silky wings along the walls of his body, knocking in spirals like a tornado. Long-suppressed hunger awoke within him, and he crashed his lips closer against Blair's. She dug two small hands into his thick hair and brought her body tighter to the storm that Chuck had become. Because while storms were known for their might and force and power, they were equally as beautiful as they were fearsome. And Blair felt as if Chuck was kissing life into her, nurturing the red rose petals that were her lips, and she would gladly be struck by lightning a million times if it felt anything like this.

"You taste like summer rain," she breathed into his mouth.

"You're as beautiful as the moon," he mumbled into hers. Before either of them knew it, Blair had untangled herself from him and was wrapping her arms around herself protectively. _Tick._ Chuck's eyes widened in confusion and then…hurt; that was unmistakably hurt. _Tick._ Blair couldn't breathe, not when she realized that the moon had been above her this whole time, and she'd never really escaped it at all. _Tick._ What a fool she was for believing she could, if only for a few hours.

"I'm sorry," she began, coming up with a plausible excuse for her strange reaction to his words. "I just realized how late it must be. I have a curfew, and while my mother probably won't notice, we have a maid who reports all my comings and goings to her…" she trailed off when she realized that he was taking in her words, accepting them, and saying things like, "Oh, of course," and "I understand."

"But tonight was…" she thought for a second. "There's not even a _word_ for how amazing it was. It's been one of the best nights of my life, and I wish I didn't have to, but I do have to go." She pleaded with her eyes for him to believe it, to believe that _he _was amazing. She gave him one more kiss on the cheek and turned to leave, shuddering even in the warm September air.

"Are you really skipping out on me again, Waldorf?" he called out. She froze in place. "It's twelve, you know. Does this make you Cinderella and me Prince Charming?" Much to Blair's relief, he was grinning from ear-to-ear, clearly impressed with himself. She smiled back at him and twirled the lone curl of her hair that refused to stay in its place.

"I like to think of myself more as Belle, actually, because I want to be the one doing the saving…The damsel in distress is more Serena's thing, which I guess would actually make _me _her prince." Blair furrowed her brows and frowned, disturbed by the thought, and Chuck continued to smile at the woman in front of him.

"So I guess I'm stuck being the Beast then?" Blair rolled her eyes at him.

"Don't you remember the story at all, Bass?" she asked condescendingly. "He was really a prince the whole time. And even though he didn't look like one at first, Belle knew it in her heart all along." She gave him one last look of an emotion Chuck couldn't decipher and made her way back to the elevator. Now alone, he looked at the city for a few more minutes, letting them pass with the quiet ticks of his watch, before realizing that it just wasn't as beautiful without Blair beside him.

* * *

A/N 3: Alright, time for feedback, may it be good or bad! I don't know what direction you thought this dinner would lead our protagonists, but I'm pretty happy with the way things went. And it's kind of funny that I used a couple fairytale references in the most recent chapter of my other fic, but oh well... I can suppose I just can't get off that mindset!

A/N 4: Oh, and I actually wanted your opinions on something pretty important to the story! I have a rough outline of the rest of the fic and what the plot will be, but I have some wiggle room in the way events play out... so how would you all feel about bringing Georgina into the mix? I'm torn about it, so I'd love to hear some yays or nays toward the idea.

A/N 5: I just realized how frickin long this chapter is. And these author's notes aren't helping so I'm going to stop now. Thx for the feedback!


	9. Emancipating

A/N: Wow, these chapters just keep getting longer and longer. I guess I just have a lot of story to tell... And, again, no proofreading occurred here, so be warned.

A/N 2: Also, I hope reading smut doesn't make you uncomfortable, because that stuff goes on a while and it sure earns an M rating... It's the first day of school, so let's make it one to remember, right? ;) Oh, and one more thing - the book the second quote came from (_I Am the Messenger_) is amazing, and I highly recommend that and Zusak's novel, _The Book Thief_. Okay, that is all.

* * *

**Chapter 9**

"_Do you think I'm pretty?"__  
__"I think you're beautiful."__  
__"Beautiful?"__  
__"You are so beautiful, it hurts sometimes."__  
__~ Richelle Mead, Vampire Academy_

"_Sometimes people are beautiful.__  
__Not in looks.__  
__Not in what they say.__  
__Just in what they are."__  
__~ Markus Zusak, I Am the Messenger_

I knew there was something different about me when I glanced at my phone and saw that it was only six-thirty in the morning. I'd made a habit over the years of narrowly missing tardy bells and slipping into my seat at the last possible second, and the first few weeks of school were the absolute worst, because while my brain knew that I had to go, my heart and body were still arguing for a little more summer, a little more sleep, a little more sand between my toes and ocean waves in my ears. But this year, not only had I agreed to go to a very early breakfast with Blair, but also I was looking forward to the return to Constance. I could already imagine in a month's time the way the leaves would be rich shades of scarlet, gold, and orange, furling at the ends to prepare for their fall, and the air would be cool and crisp in the way that was distinctly autumn. And autumn in New York City was the most beautiful in the world.

After I'd showered and swallowed nearly three cups of the strong liquid energy my mom had left roasting in the pot, I found myself in the predicament (less dramatic of course, but the same basic problem) that Blair had been in the previous night. Because of my aforementioned tendency to run late on school days, I usually slipped whatever relatively clean garments I could find on my floor over my head and called it a day. But I knew now that I would see Dan today, and for some reason I _wanted_ to make an effort to impress him.

Our stay-in date last night went really well, even though I didn't win a single game of Scrabble. But the truth was, I actually _had_ gotten a chance to win. I could have played "zealot" and gotten a triple word score, but instead, I played "eat." I don't know why I did it. Maybe because I could tell that Dan was _really_ proud of his vocabulary, or maybe because I had beaten him at bowling the day before and I didn't want him to lose _his_ kind of game, or maybe because I just loved seeing the look of victory on his face and the confidence in his eyes. After a few games, we'd shared greasy Chinese takeout and watched one of his friend's most recent documentaries, cleverly titled, "Why Rich People Suck" by Vanessa Abrams, which he'd said was profoundly intelligent, a "fascinating, satirical view of Manhattan's top tier" and I thought was profoundly boring and far too bitter in its criticism, but since it was the work of his good friend, I held my tongue. When he kissed me goodnight at around ten, I felt my stomach churn in a way it never had before – whether it was from nervousness or excitement I had no idea, but I didn't mind the feeling either way.

After examining the stack of new clothing I had bought on a back-to-school shopping trip to Bendel's, Saks, and Bergdorf's with Blair (which had taken nearly five hours), I was finally able to settle on a gray, chunky Marc Jacobs sweater to go with my uniform. It was casual and a little bohemian, but not in the way that made Blair turn up her nose in disgust. It still had style and was right on trend. While I was thinking of Blair, I checked my phone, figuring I probably had at least 10 missed messages from her by now, including but not limited to: texts concerning her outfit, texts concerning her hair, texts concerning her makeup, and texts concerning my outfit, hair, and makeup. Plus, there was most likely a couple warning me that I better be on time to breakfast, "or else…" But when I looked at my phone, I only had two unread texts, and neither was from Blair.

Sep 4, 2007, 7:09 A.M.

**Dan: **Can't wait to see you today. I can't believe I'm actually excited for the first day of school.

I felt my heart do a little flip in my chest. I was excited to see him too, but I didn't believe for a second that there was _ever _a first day of school Dan _hadn't _been excited about. He loved it.

Sep 4, 2007, 7:10 A.M.

**Serena: **Can't wait to see you either! Meet me at the front of the school around 8!

I hit send and then opened my next text.

Sep 4, 2007, 7:11 A.M.

**Unknown: **Hey Serena! I hope that it's okay Dan gave me your phone number. (It's Jenny, but you probably already figured that out.) I just wanted to wish you good luck on your first day of junior year! By the way, no one has ever beaten Dan at Scrabble, so don't feel bad. :)

I smiled at Jenny's sweet note. I liked the freshman from Brooklyn, and I was just going to have to convince Blair and her minions to lay off her.

Sep 4, 2007, 7:13 A.M.

**Serena: **Thanks Jenny! I hope your first day is fabulous, and you have four years of fun in high school! Know that you always have a friend looking out for you as long as I'm at Constance.

After sending out her second text of the morning, I began to grow concerned about the lack of communication from Blair. It was so unlike her.

Sep 4, 2007, 7:15 A.M.

**Serena: **Hey B! Are we still on for breakfast this morning? I'm actually ready for once. Aren't you proud of me?

Well, that wasn't completely true. I was running a_ little_ behind, but for me, this was uncharacteristically early. I waited patiently, hoping that whatever was causing Blair's unusual behavior wasn't bad or too serious, specifically, anything to do with her mother.

Sep 4, 2007, 7:18 A.M.

**Blair: **Sorry S, but I can't make it! Something came up! But yes, I am proud of you, even though you would still be late to breakfast even if you were already there. See you at school!

Now I was really surprised. Blair _never _cancelled plans unless she was super sick, and that text did not indicate any kind of illness. And in her schedule, things didn't just "come up." Everything was planned to the minute, all 1,440 of them every single day, all seven days a week.

Sep 4, 2007, 7:18 A.M.

**Serena: **Who are you and what have you done with my OCD-never-cancels-plans best friend, Blair?

I never did get a reply, but I did find out what happened to her. She had decided to ditch town cars for limos, and since then, her preference has never gone back.

* * *

Blair really had never been the type to cancel plans, especially with her friends. It was her nature to be organized, obsessively so, because she liked knowing everything that was going to happen and furthermore, _when_ it was going to happen. She wanted to be able to control her environment as much as possible so that she was never caught off guard, never unprepared, never flustered. But as with everything, there were always moments that really _were_ out of her hands, things that she couldn't have foreseen or plotted or planned in her neat little daybook, and forces that threw her plans so far off course in a tornado so fast and strong that it took extreme focus, discipline, and time to get them back on track. That morning, Chuck Bass was one of those uncontrollable factors. And while Blair Waldorf hated things she couldn't control, she _really _hated _people_ she couldn't manipulate or anticipate or control, and above all else, she hated when _she_ felt out of control. But that was exactly what Chuck was and what he did to her. She was all flushed cheeks and wobbly knees and lopsided, crazed grins, and she hated it. Hated it for how much she loved it.

And when she went outside, perfectly put together and prepared to step into her town car to go to breakfast, she despised herself for the way her breath caught in her throat and her heart started pounding in her ears when she saw the limo and the Bass-hole himself leaning against it like some scene out of a movie.

"Waldorf," he drawled in greeting, eyeing her appreciatively. Upon first glance, she looked sweet – her curls wrapped immaculately into a loose chignon, her cream stockings spotless, her navy Chanel flats on her dainty feet, and of course, it wouldn't be the first day of school if she wasn't wearing a signature headband – this one an ivory satin band full of navy beading and dotted with pearls. But upon closer inspection, Chuck saw glimpses of the fire below her cool, prim and proper exterior. Her lips were painted fire truck red, and when she walked, he could catch flashes of the lace at the top of the stockings, lingerie lace that wrapped tightly and temptingly around her white thighs. "You look lovely this morning." Lovely wasn't an adequate word, but he supposed it would do.

"Stalking me after only one date, Bass?" Her nostrils flared, but Chuck didn't think it was in anger.

"I like to think of it as conveniently placing myself in front of your apartment building."

"Well, I'm afraid I'm going to have to foil whatever you hoped to achieve by this 'placement' of yours, because it happens to be very _inconvenient _for me."

"Don't tell me you've already got a date for breakfast," said Chuck, his playful tone successfully concealing his legitimate worry that she would answer in the affirmative.

"I'm meeting Serena." He breathed a subtle sigh of relief. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get going."

"Hold on there, Waldorf. I came _all_ the way here – "

"Oh yes, because it's _such _a long trek for you." She rolled her eyes at him and crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

"Okay, well if I _did_ live far away, I still would have come, so as I was saying, the least you can do is have a little pre-breakfast breakfast with me."

"You're asking me to eat two meals in the span of an hour? Are you _insane_? My mother's expecting me to fit into sample sizes next week!"

"So eat a few strawberries and drink a mimosa!" Chuck shouted, exasperated. He didn't show up expecting her to joyously leap into his arms or anything, but he didn't expect a rejection, either. She remained the only woman to _ever_ reject him, and he had been hoping that it would end up as a one-time occurrence.

Blair considered his proposition. She wasn't trying to get him worked up, but her default setting when _she _was too worked up to think straight was frigid bitch. Her downright elation at seeing Chuck scared the shit out of her, and her nearly overwhelming desire to sprint to him as fast as her legs would carry her? Downright terrifying. But as much as he scared her, and she scared herself when she was with him, he thrilled her, he charmed her (in spite of her claim last night that he was "terrible" at it), he made her feel light and free and beautiful and special, and all of these things drowned out the little voice in her head that was telling her to be responsible, to run, to stay away from Uncontrollable Blair. Because Blair didn't want to be controlled anymore – by her mother, by her friends, by _herself._ So she sighed as if it was the _last_ thing she wanted to say and muttered, "Okay, _fine_. Let's go." But she was secretly thrilled.

"I knew you couldn't resist me, Waldorf," Chuck smarmed, hiding his elation at her acceptance behind a smirk.

"It was the prospect of a limo ride, actually, that I couldn't resist," she said as she slid into the familiar seats. She later swore that she could smell a hint of the Chanel No. 5 she had been wearing the night before.

"The prospect of a ride in a limo, more likely." Chuck waggled his eyebrows up and down suggestively, prompting Blair to slap his arm. "Please continue," he drawled. "I like playing rough."

"Gladly," Blair told him, pummeling his shoulders, his forearms, and his stomach with her tiny balled up fists until he finally caught them in his much larger hands and kissed every knuckle softly, one by one until all ten felt equally tingly. While there were certainly many excuses Blair could have given herself to account for her next action, in that moment, she couldn't see anything other than the truth, and the truth was sitting right in front of her, pouring into her eyes with his own. Chuck _was _the truth. He didn't let her lie to him, but more importantly, he didn't let her lie to herself, and he liked the Blair he saw, the _real _Blair. Maybe he even…? But Blair let the possibility slip through the cracks in her mind for now, because she was surging forward with the force of the truth – the truth that she _wanted _Chuck. And this inexplicable, undeniable force was pulling her closer and closer to him until their lips were colliding. After a request of entrance by Chuck's teeth on Blair's lower lip, their tongues began to thrash wildly and gratefully against one another, and Blair was astounded by how Chuck could make her feel drunk and at the same time create an insatiable thirst that she felt she would die of if it wasn't quenched. There was no in between, no half-full, no sort of satisfied. She either got all of him or none of him, and she wanted everything.

"About that ride you mentioned earlier," she murmured between kisses, her head already lightheaded. "Was that an offer?" Chuck's eyes widened. He gripped her shoulders to steady her before gently cradling her head like he had before their first kiss on the Empire State Building.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, because for all his talk and jokes and innuendos, this time it was different. This was _Blair_, and _she _was different. And as much as Chuck wanted her (which was more than he'd ever wanted anyone), he wanted what she wanted more, and he would wait if she asked him to. Because he knew that a woman like Blair Waldorf didn't often end up with a man like Chuck Bass. Because she was supposed to be with the Nate Archibalds of the world, the perfect society darling with the Golden Boy. Because he was afraid that by being this close to her this soon, he would ultimately end up pushing her away. Because he didn't want to hurt her, and because he definitely didn't want to lose her.

Instead of giving him an answer in words, Blair gave it in a kiss filled with all the passion she could muster. She wanted him to feel the electricity she felt running through her veins like they were hot metal wires. And then she was straddling him, raking her hands through his hair, unladylike moans escaping the back of her throat as he bit her neck then covered it with a trail of feathery kisses soft as butterfly wings. Though her fingers were unpracticed, they were nimble enough to manage to tear him out of his tie, jacket, and dress shirt in a matter of seconds. She buried her hands in his chest hair, placing her mouth all over his shoulders as she did.

"Your turn," he ordered, his voice thick and low. She raised her arms without a word, and he lifted her shirt over her head, never letting his eyes leave her face. With a gentle nudge, she lowered his head and he took in the sight of her. She was wearing a lacy light pink bra, and her breasts were nearly spilling over the tops of its cups, white and round and perfect. Chuck's expert fingers unclasped the back and released her breasts into his waiting hands. He cupped each one before tracing circles around her raised, pink nipples with his tongue, causing Blair to shudder with the hotness his mouth was leaving on her body and creating between her legs. After several more nips and licks and kisses, Blair felt like she was on fire, the flames consuming every limb and every inch of her soft, white skin. Chuck really was like the sun, and he was pouring his heat onto her, and she was so, _so_ hot…Unable to stand it any longer, she hastily pulled off her skirt and shoes and was about to continue with her stockings before she heard Chuck mumble, "Leave those on." Nearly breathless, Blair gasped back, "Take those _off,_" and pointed at his pants.

Sporting a wicked grin, Chuck instead chose to ignore her, lean back in his seat, and cross his legs. "You know, I have to wonder what people would say if they knew what a little vixen you really are," he said, still grinning mischievously.

"Chuck," Blair whined in response. "_Please_…"

"But then again, I quite enjoy knowing that you only show this side with me. That _I _do this to you."

"_Chuck_," Blair repeated, firmer this time. "I swear to God, if you aren't fucking me in the next five minutes, I will personally escort you to the gates of Hell."

"Sounds like fun. I'll probably end up there regardless, so I can't think of a more desirable escort." With that, Blair had had enough.

"Fine!" she shouted. "I'll just take care of things myself!" Peeking to make sure he was watching, that he _knew_ what he was missing out on, she discarded her nearly see-through and _soaked_ through La Perla thong and shook her hair loose out of its bun.

"Fuck, Blair," he choked out, now much more at attention. "You're beautiful." Again, an inadequate word for her.

"You know, it's such a shame," she said, beginning to trace patterns on the insides of her thighs until bringing her fingers up to delicately stroke her slick folds back and forth rhythmically. "_You_ could be doing this right now." She felt her eyes roll back into her head and when they fluttered open again, she saw that Chuck had complied with her earlier request and was now completely naked and looking at her with his eyes the darkest she'd ever seen them – midnight black.

"Let me," he whispered. "Let me do this, Blair." She nodded yes in reply, not sure she could get words out if she tried. He gently pulled her hands away and replaced them with his own, and his fingers were everywhere all at once. He ran them over her folds and massaged her clit, making her whimper pathetically in response, before plunging two of them inside and running them in and out of her until she nearly went over the edge. "Hold on a little longer," he said, bringing his head down. She didn't know what he was going to do, but she trusted him and did as he asked.

"What are you going to – " her words were cut off as she realized _exactly_ what it was that he was going to do. His fingers had been replaced with his tongue and it was swirling around inside her, finally bringing her to a point where she couldn't _possibly_ hold on if she tried.

"Chuck!" she screeched. He smirked and lifted two fingers to his lips to remember the taste of her.

"Mmm, Waldorf, you taste so good. Like honey."

"Let me taste _you_." Chuck had pictured this a hundred times, her little mouth and delicate pink tongue on him, around him, everywhere… But he wanted her inside of him and they _were_ on a time crunch, because while Chuck cared very little about school, Blair cared greatly, and besides, the old man wouldn't be too happy about him skipping on the very first day. He might just send him to boarding school, and that would mean no Blair at all.

"Another time. And I _will_ hold you to it." He smirked; she smirked back. "But right now, I need to be inside you."

"Okay," she told him, sure of herself. "I'm ready."

"I swear I'll make it as painless as possible."

"I know. Just do it." She nodded at him encouragingly and he began massaging her once more, getting her wet again in preparation for him to slide in easily.

"Okay, Blair. This might hurt a little." He found his way inside her until he couldn't go any further and she squeezed her eyes shut to ready herself. "Open them," he commanded. He wanted to see those brown doe eyes for every second of this. He _had _to see them, and he told her so. "I need to see you." So she opened them and drew a line down his jaw with her finger.

"I suppose you _are _the boss here," she relented. He chuckled.

"Yes, I suppose so."

"But only here!" she was quick to add. "Don't get any ideas, Bass, because with everything else, I will _always_ be the boss."

"Whatever you say, Waldorf." And then he plummeted deeper inside her and she simultaneously cried out in pain and pleasure, because that's exactly what Chuck did to her. He brought her pain, her insecurities, and her faults out of the shadows and into the light where they could no longer hide, but he still wanted her, and that gave her the greatest pleasure she'd ever known.

She saw ruby roses of blood blooming on the carpet of the limo and knew that there were tears pooling in her eyes, but the pain gradually subsided, and it was pleasure, all pleasure, as Chuck began to hammer in and out.

"Harder," she ordered. "Faster too."

"I thought I was the boss here," he managed to get out, a half-moon smile on his face. But nevertheless, he did as she asked as she gratefully bucked her hips against him. And then, as she wrapped her arms and legs around him tightly, she realized that they were practically molded to one another - fused into one body, one being, and suddenly, Blair didn't just feel like she was getting stuck by lightning; she _was _lightning, shooting sparks of an electric current, white hot and destructive, until she flashed back into the sky.

"Oh my God!" Blair realized that it was her voice yelling out. "Come with me, Chuck," she said, her voice taking on the bossiest tone she could muster given the circumstances.

"You first," he bossed right back. So she did, and it was better than she could have imagined. With the heat of Chuck's sun and the electricity of her lightning, how could it not be the most incredible feeling she'd ever experienced?

"Chuck!" she shouted, coming for him for the second time in the limo.

"Blair!" And then she knew that he had been waiting for her the whole time, and they collapsed onto each other, breathless, with Chuck still inside her. They stayed that way, holding on as if for dear life, until Blair heard the beeping of her phone.

"Serena," she mumbled, reluctantly pushing herself off (and out) of Chuck before typing out a quick response. There was no chance she was going to breakfast now.

"I guess it's safe to assume you have to go." Blair set down her phone and turned to face him.

"What are _talking_ about? I'm not going anywhere."

"You're not?"

"No. So would you like to collect on that favor I owe you now or later?" He merely attacked her with kisses for an answer, and they both wondered how it was that they had gotten so lucky.

* * *

"Wait, so _where_ is she?" Iz asked, examining her freshly painted nails. "If she's not at her penthouse, not at breakfast with Serena, and not here, then – "

"Oh my God!" Kati squealed, nearly knocking over her cup of non-fat vanilla yogurt. "There she is, and she's with – "

"_Chuck Bass_!" Jenny finished for her. It was no small miracle that Jenny had been granted access to the Met steps this morning, but after showing off her text from her brother's girlfriend to the rest of the girls, they had grudgingly allowed her to join them. Though she had been up for hours, Jenny still hadn't quite been able to shake the feeling that she was curling up in bed in Brooklyn and having a very strange dream, and Blair stepping out of a limo with _Chuck Bass_ was enough to confirm it. "Someone pinch me," she muttered, not expecting anyone to overhear.

"Sorry, but I'm afraid I don't touch anything from Brooklyn," Penelope informed her snidely. "Too many diseases and trash and poor people. You understand, of course, don't you Little J?"

"Of course," Jenny agreed robotically, hurt by Penelope's words but unprepared to go into a vocal sparring match. Jenny lost her wits whenever she was around these girls; she supposed they intimidated it right out of her. "Hey, Blair," she said, wanting to at least make a good impression on someone today, the most important person of all. "I'm – "

"Jenny Humphrey, right?" Blair sat down and adjusted her curls in a compact mirror. Jenny could only stare, speechless. _Blair Waldorf_ knew her name? Serena must have mentioned her! Jenny's heart swelled with pride, and she found her voice.

"Yeah," she said. "Nice to meet you."

"Too bad Blair can't say the same for you," Penelope replied, malice in her voice.

"Actually, Penelope, it's _you _who isn't very nice to be around at the moment, so if you'll excuse us, Jenny and I are going to find Serena." Penelope's jaw dropped, and Jenny's would have if she hadn't consciously made an effort to keep it sealed shut. "_Well_, aren't you coming, Little J?" Jenny heard Blair's words, and though she was still a bit dazed, she managed to get on her feet and walk in step with Blair, who strutted like she was on some kind of _mission_.

"Serena told me last night that you were supposed to meet her for breakfast this morning," Jenny said, attempting to make conversation. "Did she cancel?"

"Of course not," Blair returned with a light laugh, swatting a hand in front of her as if to imply that the thought of _anyone_ cancelling on her was absurd. "Something came up and _I_ had to cancel."

"Something with Chuck Bass?" Jenny wasn't looking for gossip; God knows Blair had been the only person nice to her all morning, with the exception of Rufus and Dan, who had been all over her during breakfast, giving her all sorts of advice she didn't need or _want_ about high school. Upon later consideration, she realized she should have listened so that she would know exactly what _not _to do. But she was genuinely interested about the status of Blair and Chuck's relationship, if they even had one at all. Blair seemed to read Jenny's eyes, and she must have been adequately satisfied in their honest curiosity, because she answered a question she obviously didn't have to.

"Yes. He was waiting for me in his limo this morning outside my penthouse, and I couldn't exactly turn him down."

"Wow. That's actually kind of romantic, Blair." Nothing like the Chuck she had met at Penelope's, she added silently. Blair seemed really happy, almost to the point of being un-Blairlike, and Jenny didn't want to ruin that. Besides, maybe Chuck was different with her, and if Chuck Bass was who Blair wanted, then good for her for going for it. It definitely took courage; there was sure to be gossip about it all day, not to mention countless stares and questioning looks, even from Blair's so-called "friends." Jenny certainly hadn't been brave enough to seek Nate out again, but she supposed it was easier to stay on top than to get there. Then again, people said that it was lonely at the top, and Blair's minions always seemed to confirm this statement, not telling her their true opinions about anything, saying things about her behind her back, and constantly planning her downfall so that they could ascend to the throne.

"Yeah, I guess it was a _little_ romantic," Blair was saying, a smile plastered to her face. She looked like she was going to keep talking but was interrupted with a blast from Gossip Girl that made Jenny want to vomit. It was a video of her dorky older brother making out with –

"Is that Serena?" Blair asked, clearly confused as to who was currently sucking her best friend's face via live streaming video.

"Yeah," Jenny mumbled, "with my brother, Dan."

"Oh, so _that's_ Dan," said Blair, now seeming to remember that Serena had a _real _boyfriend now.

"They made it official last night," Jenny explained. "He's crazy about her."

"Of course he is. So is every breathing male who lays eyes on her." Normally, Jenny would expect at least a trace of envy or bitterness in a comment like this, especially given the rumors that Blair was secretly jealous of her blond counterpart, but Jenny didn't pick up on any. "And no offence, Little J," Blair went on, "but considering Serena can get any guy she wants, I'm having a hard time understanding why she'd go out with your brother, the loner from Brooklyn who looks like he's in need of a long shower." Jenny sighed, sure that she'd be getting a lot of these kinds of comments as more and more people realized that she and Dan were siblings.

"I understand completely," she said. "I don't get it either, especially when at Saint Jude's, there are guys as gorgeous as…" Jenny held her tongue. That was close. She didn't know what Penelope had told Blair, and she couldn't risk her fragile but growing friendship with the Queen B.

"As Nate Archibald?" Jenny's head snapped to attention.

"You know? Oh God, what did Penelope say about me? It's just a little crush, I promise, and I have no intention, I mean it's no big deal, and I – "

"You should go for it," Blair inserted in the midst of Jenny's ramblings, a determined look on her face. "I can deal with Penelope if she gives you any trouble. Jenny, almost every girl at Constance has a crush on Nate, and if it's _you_ that he likes, then you owe it to yourself to see where things go. It's not often you get to make a whole school of bitches like Penelope jealous." She offered Jenny a small smile.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Because," Blair said quietly. "I know what it's like to be afraid of going after what you want and holding yourself back because you're scared of what other people will think. And I wish that there had been someone there to tell me that thinking like that is really, really stupid, because the people who really care about you want _all _of you, not just parts of you, and definitely not a pretend you. And I can see that you're conflicted about whether or not it's okay to be yourself, so I want to tell you that it _is_."

"You really think that?" Jenny asked, overwhelmed by the kindness and warmth in Blair's eyes, neither of which she had ever seen in them before. Blair nodded. "Thank you, Blair. Really."

"Anytime, Little J," Blair said, tousling Jenny's hair like she would a younger sister. "And, look, there's Nate! Go!" She gave Jenny a shove in that direction and waved goodbye, giving her one last thumb's up for good luck before turning away.

"Hey, Nate," Jenny began, praying to God that he would remember who she was so that she wouldn't have to transfer schools in humiliation.

"Jenny!" Jenny felt like she couldn't breathe as he enveloped her in a hug, surrounding her with his toned, tanned arms. He pulled away, giving her a playful smile. "May I just say that your uniform brings out your gorgeous blue eyes?" Jenny laughed, recalling the advice he had given her at the cookout at Penelope's. _All you have to do is give everyone lots of ridiculously nice compliments, and you'll be golden,_ he'd told her, and it had actually worked. She'd given out dozens of outrageous compliments in order to make conversation with many of the snotty Upper East Side families.

"Why thank you, Nathaniel," she responded, drawing out his name in an imitation of Chuck. She twirled around to show off just how good her uniform looked on her, and her plaid skirt flew up a little at the edges. "As does yours." It was true. His ocean eyes were twinkling and looked more inviting than ever. She could get lost in those eyes as easily as she could get lost in the actual ocean, just a tiny dot of a girl surrounded by water in every direction.

"So are you pumped for your first day of high school?" he asked her.

"I'm mostly just hoping I don't do anything to mortify myself enough to last me the next four years."

"Like what?"

"Like…I don't know. Face plant after tripping up the stairs or in the hallway. Spill my lunch all over myself. Walk into one of the fancy columns in the courtyard and get a huge bruise on my forehead to prove it." Nate shook his head and laughed at her imagined scenarios.

"Well, I'd beat up anybody who made fun of you."

"Aw, thanks Nate."

"But not before getting a good laugh myself, of course."

"Hey!" They were both laughing now, their blond heads bobbing up and down so close together that Jenny could smell Nate's cologne. "I take back my gratitude!" she declared in mock-anger while still giggling.

"Alright," Nate said in defeat. "I would try my absolute _best_ not to laugh. Good enough?"

"I suppose," Jenny sighed. "Oh!" she suddenly shouted. "I almost forgot! I have something to tell you."

"What?"

"It _was_ snails at the cookout! You were right!" Nate's face morphed into a cross between disgust and amusement.

"Did _you _eat them too?"

"Gross! No way I was eating those things! The waiter told me."

"Wish he'd told me," Nate complained, rubbing a hand over his stomach. "I felt sick later that night." He shrugged his shoulders. "Guess that's what I get for eating anything that I'm told tastes like chicken." Jenny laughed.

"Well, I wish he had told you regardless." Both blonds jumped as they heard the warning bell signaling that it was time to start heading to class. "Well, I guess we should get going," said Jenny as Nate dug around in his messenger bag.

"Here." He offered her a piece of paper on which he scribbled a set of numbers. "My phone number. Text me all about your first day, _especially_ anything embarrassing!"

"You mean for you to _not _laugh at?" Jenny raised her eyebrows, and Nate flashed her a grin that nearly blinded her with all its sparkling whiteness.

"Right! Catch you later, Jen!" They headed their separate ways, Jenny to biology and Nate to trig, where he knew Chuck would be waiting, but neither could focus on their respective subjects when they were busy day dreaming about one another.

* * *

Jenny wasn't the only one having difficulty focusing. I was consumed with thoughts of Dan, and from the looks on Blair's face, it was pretty apparent that she wasn't hearing a word Mrs. Lake was saying either. I attempted to listen to the discussion we were having on our summer reading book, _Pride and Prejudice. Well, the discussion Mrs. Lake and Nelly Yuki were having. The remainder of the class was fighting to keep their eyes open, staring into space, or texting. Nelly was currently describing the reasons behind her extreme abhorrence of Mr. Darcy and her thick-rimmed glasses were slipping down her little nose as she spoke._

"He is extremely full of himself and makes no secret of it. Women throw themselves at him, because he's both rich and handsome, but he's critical of all of them, and the list that he and Caroline Bingley compose of the qualities a successful woman needs to possess is absolutely ridiculous, idealistic, and insulting, far more sexist than Elizabeth's comment that she doesn't believe such a woman exists. Besides, Mr. Darcy admits that he hates people anyway, so I doubt such a woman would be good enough even if she did exist. Honestly, I had a tough time believing he could love anyone at all. He just didn't seem capable."

"You're wrong." I (and everyone else in the class) turned toward the confident, recognizable voice. It was Blair, apparently pulled out of her dreams by Nelly's remarks.

"What is that supposed to mean, Blair?" asked Nelly, because she was admittedly afraid of Blair everywhere _except _the classroom, and she had no qualms about getting into a battle of intellect with her. "It was an opinion. How can I be wrong?"

"Well, your opinion of Mr. Darcy is _wrong._"

"Care to expand on your views, Blair?" This time, it was Mrs. Lake asking the question.

"Early on, Elizabeth accuses Mr. Darcy of having a defect that causes him to hate people, and he replies that hers is to misunderstand them. And she does misunderstand him at first. She sees him the way that everyone else does – rich and handsome but so disagreeable and rude and proud that his looks and wealth are worthless. And, yes, he is all of those things, but Nelly, don't you understand? It's called _Pride and _Prejudice, and you let yourself become prejudiced against Darcy, letting those qualities overshadow the more important aspects of his character, the parts of him that are at the core rather than at the surface. First of all, he is fiercely loyal to his best friend. He always looks out for Bingley, and he would do anything for him. Second, in Chapter 12, Darcy resolves not to speak to Elizabeth or let himself admire her, because he's _afraid _of the way she makes him feel. He's _afraid _of the possibility that he could be falling for her. But eventually he learns that he can't suppress the love he feels, and he does extremely generous things for her and her family even after she rejects him. Because, Nelly, I don't believe there's a human on earth that's incapable of love. And while sometimes people are more guided by their capacity to hate, that doesn't mean they've lost the ability to love someone. It never goes away. It just takes some people longer to find it, and Darcy is an example of that." The entire room was stunned into silence. Not a sound was heard until Nelly's glasses finally fell off the bridge of her nose and clattered resoundingly onto the floor. Mrs. Lake quickly began speaking after the silence was broken.

"Those were some very interesting observations, Blair. Your character analysis of Mr. Darcy was quite original, and I have to say, I'm impressed." The rest of us were impressed as well, but we were also left wondering if it was even Mr. Darcy that Blair had been talking about and defending so passionately.

* * *

A/N 3: Sooooo how was it? And I'm not just talking about the one scene, though I do want to hear about that too! But there was _a lot_ that went on in this chapter, so I'd love _a lot_ of feedback to go with it!

A/N 4: FYI, the next chapter will probably be set after school, and I think it may just be the big reveal of Blair's secret. Because while she went on about being honest with Chuck in this one, she's going to realize that she's not _really_ being entirely truthful...

A/N 5: And finally, I realized that I probably won't have to decide about Georgina for another few chapters, so yay for putting off decisions until the last possible moment! Thanks to all of you who had input on the subject - because of you all, I'm leaning towards having her make a brief appearance, but trust me, there would be no romancing going on with Chuck!

Thanks again to all who take the time to review! I appreciate it so much!


	10. Unveiling

A/N: Aaaannnddd, drumroll please! The moment we've all been waiting for - the reveal of Blair's secret! Hopefully you enjoy how it unfolds!

A/N 2: And, no, I didn't proofread... But I at least considered it this time!

* * *

**Chapter 10**

_"And then something invisible snapped inside her, and that which had come together commenced to fall apart."__  
__~ John Green, Looking for Alaska_

"_Knowing can be a curse on a person's life. I'd traded in a pack of lies for a pack of truth, and I didn't know which one was heavier. Which one took the most strength to carry around? It was a ridiculous question, though, because once you know the truth, you can't ever go back and pick up your suitcase of lies. Heavier or not, the truth is yours now."__  
__~ Sue Monk Kidd, The Secret Life of Bees_

"_Lies and secrets, Tessa, they are like a cancer in the soul. They eat away what is good and leave only destruction behind."__  
__~ Cassandra Clare, Clockwork Prince_

"Dude?" Nate firmly poked Chuck's shoulder in an attempt to get his attention.

"What, Nathaniel? I'm very busy trying to focus on the wondrous modern uses of trigonometry here." Nate frowned in place of his signature boyish smile, and Chuck's demeanor instantly changed. "Something wrong?"

"Nah," Nate said. "It's just that… Well, I was wondering what you would think about…"

"Seriously, Nathaniel, just spit it out!"

"What would you think about me if I decided to go out with a freshman?" Nate's frown got deeper as Chuck full out laughed at him in response. Luckily, their teacher was too engrossed in trying out every color dry erase marker he had to notice.

"_That's _what has you all worked up?"

"Well, yeah, actually it is," Nate retorted, put on the defensive. "Don't you think it's kind of a big deal?"

"Not when _you_ have the maturity level of a 7th grader," Chuck returned easily.

"Is that supposed to be encouraging?"

"It's supposed to be whatever you want it to be. I'm just saying that girls in our grade seem to be a little much for you, that's all." Nate nodded slowly. Though Chuck's honesty was often brutal and dry, he appreciated it. It was rare that anyone else he was close to came anywhere near the truth about how they felt about him, and he knew that his parents would _never_ say what they really thought unless it was behind closed – and _locked _– doors with Nate out of earshot. Sometimes he needed the tough love, the criticism that helped him to see himself more clearly.

"I guess I see your point," Nate admitted, allowing a lopsided half-smile to grace his features.

"It's the Jenny girl, isn't it?" Of course he knew exactly whom Nate was talking about.

"Jenny Humphrey, yeah. She's from Brooklyn, which will probably kill my mom, but – "

"Wait, she's from _Brooklyn_?" Chuck practically spat out the word, and Nate was on defense once again.

"What's _your_ problem with Brooklyn? It's not like you ever go there."

"For a reason. I have many problems with Brooklyn, most notably the people, the places, and the things that reside there. It's disgusting." Nate shook his head, and Chuck grinned to let him know he was just giving him a hard time. He started making gagging noises with his throat and pretended to vomit.

"Alright over there, Mr. Bass?" Nate's head shot up. As it turned out, their teacher had run out of the colors of the rainbow and was now standing with his hands on his hips and his weight shifted entirely to his right side. _What a strange stance_, Nate thought. "You sounded like you were going to be sick. I'd be happy to write you a pass to the school nurse – " Nate had forgotten about every teacher's attitude toward Chuck the first couple weeks of school. Chuck had been sure to fill him in so that he knew what to expect and wasn't surprised by the extra, unwanted attention Chuck was bound to receive at first. They would try to suck up to him, win him over, convince him they were cool, and all of it was in an effort to get him engaged in his schooling (due to Bart's generous donation to the school and the perks that would come with having the elder Bass's gratitude). But every one of them, without fail, always ended up giving up on him after witnessing a few weeks of consistent indifference on Chuck's end.

"It's the tie actually. Not to worry, Mr. Austin. It's a quick fix."

"Ahrens," their teacher corrected him. "I'm Mr. Ahrens." He got into a normal standing position and stood to his full height as if this would somehow force it to Chuck's memory.

"Right. Pretty sure I said that."

"And do you mean that your tie is too tight and is causing you to choke?" He looked skeptical and with good reason. Chuck's tie was hanging in a loose knot at the bottom of his throat.

"On the contrary, Mr. Austin, it's yours that's eliciting this reaction from me; it's currently causing me to feel dreadfully nauseous." The backs of the students in the first two rows grew rigid as the remaining students snickered into their math textbooks, already enjoying the entertainment their brand new classmate was providing them. Chuck's reputation preceded him, and while he fully intended to live up to it, Nate had hoped Saint Jude's would actually end up his turning point, academically speaking.

"Excuse me?" Mr. Ahrens looked vaguely confused and extremely uncomfortable, and retreated into his former position of awkward hips and shifted weight. It was a wonder he didn't teeter off balance completely. Nate felt a bit sorry for the guy. There was no doubt in his mind that Mr. Ahrens had been warned about Chuck's antics, but then again, he probably figured he'd at least have a couple days of peace, and he wouldn't even be getting one.

"Your tie makes Chuck want to _up_chuck," a conceited, redheaded kid in the back supplied, snorting in amusement from his own joke. His name was Derek, and Nate couldn't stand him, a rarity, considering Nate's easy, breezy personality. He was on the lacrosse team, and his hair was styled in something that could only be described as a glorified mullet. Chuck looked over at him and nodded in agreement.

"Mullet boy is correct. And while I understand that as a math teacher, you're probably not expected to impress anyone with your appearance, I find it very insulting that you would choose to wear corduroys better suited for suburban soccer moms than middle-aged men at an establishment as _fine_ as Saint Jude's. For that, there is no excuse, and they are most definitely not helping the nausea." Mr. Ahrens's mouth dropped open and he began to pace, stopping every few moments to look at Chuck, wag his finger a bit, decide against saying something, and continue pacing. Finally, after Chuck had been lounging back in his desk with his feet up and his arms crossed for nearly three minutes of class time, Mr. Ahrens spoke.

"Mr. Bass. You know, I really hate to do this on your first day at Saint Jude's, but you have left me with – with no alternative. I will not – I refuse to tolerate these – these rude outbursts, and therefore, I – I –"

"What's wrong, Mr. Austin? Mom cords up your ass this morning?" Nate nudged Chuck with his elbow, silently begging him to stop, but it was too late. The damage had been done, and Nate knew that no amount of interference from him could repair that kind of destruction between a student and his teacher.

"It's _Ahrens_!" he exploded. "Headmistress's office, Mr. Bass! _Now!"_ Derek burst out laughing behind them and whispered something to the freckled blond beside him, who in turn began to chuckle. "And take _him_ with you!" Ahrens continued, pointing a shaking, bony finger in Derek's direction.

"Gladly," Chuck said, making it all too clear to Nate that getting out of class had been his intention all along. Nate wished Mr. Ahrens could realize this as well and understand that forcing Chuck to stay in class, take notes, and pay attention would be a far more serious punishment than whatever slap on the wrist the Headmistress would give him on his first day. "Till tomorrow, Austin." Chuck gave him a dramatic salute and Derek copied him with an admiring grin. "And try not to be wearing anything revolting, yeah?" Both boys cackled as they made their exit, but Nate could only put his head in his hands and count slowly to ten.

* * *

Sep 4, 2007 9:08 A.M.

**Chuck: **Where are you?

**Blair: **English. It's almost over, thank God. These people are insufferable. You?

**Chuck: **Wouldn't you like to know? You'll never guess.

**Blair: **Well, I know you should be in trig, but I also know you that you wouldn't say that if you were.

**Chuck: **Do you want to know? I'd love to help you relax after a stressful class.

**Blair: **Very funny. But we only have a few minutes between classes, and unless you want people to think you're that quick…

**Chuck: **Suggestion withdrawn. But I have to say, it's not the worst idea I've had all day.

**Blair:** Don't tell me you've been sent to Queller already.

**Chuck: **I may have commented on my trig teacher's atrocious choice in attire.

**Blair: **Chuck! What were you thinking?

**Chuck:** That it was the easiest way to get out of class. He was wearing soccer mom corduroys, Blair!

**Blair: **As bad as that sounds, you still shouldn't have done it.

**Chuck: **I know you care about your permanent record and everything, but I really couldn't care less. What's one more demerit? In fact, I think I'll go for the record of most in a year.

**Blair: **Well, I care about both of our permanent records, and I think you should apologize profusely, turn up the charm (but not to a level where she thinks you're hitting on her), and swear it'll never happen again.

**Chuck: **Are you insane?

**Blair: **No, but you could be! Say you forgot to take your meds this morning!

**Chuck: **I don't need you to do this.

**Blair: **Do what? I'm trying to be helpful.

**Chuck: **Helpful? To who – me? Because I already made it clear that I don't care about school.

**Blair: **What are you saying? Who else would I be trying to help?

**Chuck: **Yourself, because you're embarrassed by it.

**Blair: **OMG! You really are insane if that's what you think! I'm doing this because I think there's a good chance you're the smartest guy in this school, and you're wasting it.

**Chuck: **You think that?

**Blair: **Yes, and the bell's about to ring, so you're going to text me later about how the meeting with the Headmistress went.

**Chuck: **No need. Meet me after school. Same place we got dropped off.

**Blair: **Okay. And don't forget the crazy meds story!

**Chuck: **Not going to happen. But Waldorf?

**Blair: **Yeah?

**Chuck: **Thanks.

**Blair: **Anytime, Bass.

* * *

"He did _what?" _Bart closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd had to reschedule a meeting for this. Though he had told Headmistress Queller to call him in, regardless of the situation or seriousness of whatever crime Chuck committed, he hadn't anticipated that he would be needed on the _first_ day of school. Bart glared at Chuck, who was sitting sullenly in a chair as far from Bart and Queller as possible. Headmistress Queller calmly relayed the morning's events to Bart, who looked more and more indifferent as she went on, but Chuck knew that the look of cold apathy resulted in consequences _far_ worse than when he released part of his frustration in his looks and voice. "Your phone." Chuck looked to his father with cloaked, dark eyes. "Hand. It. Over." Bart was grinding his teeth, and Chuck reluctantly placed the device into his outstretched hand, flinching when they made contact, fire against ice.

"Mr. Ahrens informed me that since this was a first offense, he's going to trust you to dole out an appropriate punishment for Charles' disrespectful conduct, and while as Headmistress, I can certainly overrule, I second his opinion."

"You and Mr. Ahrens need not worry," Bart assured her smoothly. "This is just the tip of the iceberg." He lifted the phone to her to indicate that Chuck was in store for much more than getting his cell taken away. Headmistress Queller pursed her lips and gave him a brief and nearly imperceptible nod.

"Of course, Mr. Bass. Charles, I hope the rest of your day is much more uneventful and that I will not be seeing you for the remainder of the school year."

"Actually, Headmistress," Bart cut in, smoothing the lapels of his designer suit. He was all hard, gray edges in that thing, razor sharp and able to cut anyone who got too close right to the bone. "Chuck will be going with me. We're going on a little educational field trip." Headmistress Queller looked confused and a bit anxious for Chuck's sake, but she agreed to sign him out for an early dismissal. Chuck wasn't the only Bass with a reputation, after all. Nobody refused Big Bad Bart anything, because he was bound to get it one way or another anyway.

"Father," Chuck began in an attempt to explain his earlier course of action, despite already knowing that his attempt would be futile and his explanation flimsy at best.

"Not another word." Bart glanced out the window, glowering at whatever zoomed by the limo, and didn't grant his son a second look the whole ride.

* * *

"He said he'd be here, Serena!" Blair crossed her arms tightly over her chest and gave me an angry huff.

"Blair, please, just listen to reason," I begged her.

"Reason?" she scoffed. "You have the least common sense out of anyone I know!"

"B, _please._ I understand that you're upset, but it's been twenty minutes, and he hasn't showed. Plus, I saw Nate leaving class _alone_, so – "

"He's coming, okay?" she snapped. "He wouldn't ditch me!" Blair's voice, while laced with irritation, faltered a bit at the end, and I knew that it wasn't me she was trying to convince. "He would at least call or text…" she was saying.

"Oh, B." I reached out to her to try to pull her into a comforting embrace but was immediately shot a glance that advised against it.

"I don't want your pity, S. Not when your boyfriend, who is totally in love with you, is most likely waiting for you right now." I smiled wearily, because she was right. I was supposed to meet Dan for coffee in ten minutes.

"You're more important right now," I offered weakly, not knowing what else I could say.

"Don't you get it, Serena?" Blair stared at me, imploring me to understand. I wanted to, but sometimes Blair was so complicated. She felt so many emotions all at once, whereas I could barely retain one at a time without getting overwhelmed completely. "I want someone that I'm _always_ the most important person to, someone who wants to be with me all the time, and I thought – "

"That could be Chuck." Blair gave me three swift jerks of her head. Yes. "Well, you don't know for sure that it's not. There could have been an emergency, or something else really serious, and he just couldn't possibly get here."

"Still doesn't excuse not telling me. Thank God I only told you about our plans, because otherwise, he would have embarrassed me in front of everyone."

"I guess you're right," I sighed, not willing to keep up this fight. It was exhausting to even try to defend the actions of Chuck Bass.

"You need to go, S," she said quietly, her arms still stiff across her chest. "Humphrey's waiting."

"B, I can stay if you want." She shook her head, tossing her curls in every direction.

"Wouldn't dream of keeping you from Not-So-Lonely Boy." This time, when I tried to hug her, she let me.

"Call me if you need me," I said into her shoulder.

"Same here. I mean if anything crawls out of Humphrey's contaminated, unwashed hair and attacks you."

"There's my girl." We gave each other one last wave and slipped into our own taxis, heading our different ways.

* * *

"Central Park." Blair leaned her head back against the sticky leather seat and closed her eyes. It felt wrong. It smelled wrong too. It was supposed to smell like Scotch and mint and Chanel perfume, not greasy food and cigarettes and sweaty tourists. She tried to think about something else, _anything _else, so she began to mentally schedule her entire weekend: After breakfast with Mother, she'd go to Bergdorf's with Serena and possibly even invite little Jenny Humphrey to tag along. No doubt it would be the highlight of her life. After a few hours of shopping, they'd go out for a late lunch and she'd order a watercress salad. And then, she had to go to dress fittings for Eleanor Waldorf Designs. Oh, wait…dress fittings. Salad dressing on the side, then.

"Excuse me, Miss? We're here." Blair opened her eyes.

"Oh. Thanks." She threw a single bill over the seat and heard the cabbie suck in a breath.

"Don't you want some change? You, uh, handed me a fifty."

"It's for air freshener," she told him. "And higher quality snacks." She cast a disdainful look at his French fries before crossing the street and entering her sanctuary. Thankfully, her feet led her, and she didn't even have to think in order to reach the duck pond. She didn't have any crusts to offer the ducks today, but she'd make it up to them by getting Dorota to bring two whole loaves of bread next time. And then Blair didn't have anything else to plan, and her thoughts reverted back to the place she'd been avoiding. She sunk on a bench and collapsed onto her knees. She shouldn't care so much, and she had known it was a mistake to let herself care in the first place. Chuck was a mistake. Everything that had happened with him… She'd let him get too close, and he'd panicked. He must have, because there was no other explanation. Had she been too serious, too boring? Too demanding or clingy? Or was she just too damn depressing to be around? To Blair, the most horrible part of it was, he hadn't even seen the worst of her, the darkest, most twisted thing she kept hidden away, locked in a deep corner of her mind for her to try to forget and no one else to discover its existence. She hadn't really been honest with him at all, as much as she wished she could have been, because he never would have lasted as long as he did if she had.

"Daddy, look! The ducks are swimming around!" Blair lifted her head, gradually letting her body build itself back up and set into its default setting of impeccable posture. She stared at the little girl who had spoken, a girl in a pretty pink dress and bow who looked no older than five. Her father bent down next to her and brushed her dark hair behind her ears.

"Want to feed them?"

"Are we allowed to?" Her eyes widened. "At the zoo, they said _no_ feeding the animals!"

"This isn't the zoo, sweetie, and I promise we won't get in trouble."

"You really, really promise?"

"I do. Would you let anything bad happen to your dear old dad?"

"No, Daddy!"

"Then, you should know that I love you enough to not let anything bad happen to _you._" Blair felt the air sucked out of her lungs, and the corner of her mind was suddenly unlocked, unleashing her worst nightmare into the broad daylight, a time when she was usually in control. It was the dark she feared, not the light. But it was coming anyway – the memory, and she didn't have the strength to ward it off.

* * *

_She awoke to a thunk on the staircase. Then another sounded, softer, but still an odd noise that was most definitely out of place. She slid her feet into a pair of white, fuzzy slippers and treaded down the hallway, afraid of what might await her on the stairs._

_"Who's there?" she called, voice barely above a whisper. "Hello?"_

_"It's just me, Blair Bear." Her father popped out of the dark hallway to join her at the edge of the staircase, and she nearly jumped out of her skin._

_"Gosh, Daddy. You scared me!"_

_"Everything's fine, sweetheart. Go back to sleep." He ruffled her hair and gave her a loving Daddy smile, but it didn't crinkle his eyes the way it was supposed to._

_"No, Daddy, something's wrong. What was that noise?"_

_"I just fell going down the steps to get some water to take up to bed." He was lying, and she could tell, because he looked down at his feet and shifted his eyes as he spoke._

_"Then where is it? Your water?"_

"_I must have forgotten it when I heard your voice. Go back to bed," he repeated, "and I'll be up in a jiffy. Je vois la lune, et la lune me voit; que Dieu bénisse la lune, et Dieu me bénisse," he recited, his soft singing voice carrying the words to her wrapped in fatherly affection. Blair looked at him, scrutinized he way his eyes were imploring her to go back to her bedroom, retreat from whatever truth he was hiding from her, and pretend that everything was fine, that lies were fine. But they weren't, and she couldn't._

"_No," she said, shaking her head defiantly. "Not until you tell me what's going on." Her father took a few shaky breaths but said nothing. He simply stood, wearily but effectively, and blocked the way to the stairs. "Move Daddy," she ordered him._

"_I can't, Blair Bear," he managed, weakness evident in the hunching of his shoulders, the way his forehead filled with deep crevices of concern, the cavern of wrinkles that formed between his brows._

"_You're going to," she countered, sure that her father would eventually go back to his usual pushover self if she held her ground._

"_No, sweetheart, not this time. You don't want to see what's down there." Too late, Harold realized that he'd given her the absolute worst response possible, and Blair shot down the staircase, pushing past her father in his moment of distraction. She rushed into the kitchen, not knowing what to expect, and she was greeted with a sight she'd seen many times before – stuffed suitcases were sitting on the floor, as they always were whenever her mother or father was needed out of town for business, and then of course, there were the times when the kitchen was nearly overflowing with them, because Blair and Eleanor would both instead on bringing three outfits for each day of their trip. But it was the middle of the night, this was something her father hadn't wanted her to see, and she'd never seen _him _take more than two bags anywhere. Blair Waldorf wasn't stupid, but she wasn't ready to understand yet._

"_Daddy, what's going on? Where are you going?" She didn't recognize her own voice; it sounded disconnected from the rest of her, strange, and sharp, but she didn't care, so long as her father answered her questions._

"_Everything's going to be okay, Blair."_

"_That's not an answer," she whispered, sounding more like herself. Her eyes were stinging, and her heart sped up._

"_I just don't want this to be how you find out."_

"_Find out what?" Then, accepting that her father would be giving her nothing, she supplied the words for him. "That you're leaving us?"_

"_Not you, Blair Bear," Harold said, finally breaking down and kneeling in front of his daughter. "I'm still going to be your father, and you know I love you, and I'll be here whenever you need me. I promise. So I'm not leaving you, sweetheart, not really."_

"_So just Mom then." The strange voice was back, shriller and colder than before._

"_Your mother and I haven't been happy for a long time," he said softly, nearly whispering. Blair knew they fought, knew that they were different around other people than when it was the two of them, but they were her _parents_, and this wasn't supposed to be happening. She could not let this happen._

"_Daddy, please, please don't go."_

"_Blair Bear…"_

"_Daddy, I know that you and Mom are in a bad place, but you can't just give up!" Blair had tears streaming down her face, and her volume was rising in fear, in anger, in aching sadness. "You just can't! I won't let you!" She grabbed the handle of one of the loaded suitcases and lifted it, just barely, off the surface of the kitchen's black and white floor. After making it a few steps, she figured she had made her point and let the dead weight clatter to the ground. Harold's passport fell out of the open front pocket along with his wallet, ID, and two photos. Blair watched as he dove for them, but she snatched them before he could._

"_Blair, please give those to me." She made her decision without much consideration and flipped them over. The first was her with her father in Paris, standing with their arms around each other and grinning widely. It was a couple years old, and her hair was dreadful, but she still loved it. The second was in Paris too; she could tell because the Eiffel Tower made up most of the background. And in the foreground, there was her father, and he was kissing someone who wasn't her mother. Who wasn't even a woman._

"_Daddy?" she whispered, the tears falling faster now. He couldn't be, just couldn't be…_

"_I'm gay, Blair. That's – "_

"_I don't want to know his name!" Harold took a couple steps back, unable to speak, unable to breathe. This wasn't how things were supposed to have fallen into place – they were planned out in order to land smoothly, not trip into a clustered disaster of broken plans. "How could you do this to Mom and me? Behind our backs?" Harold folded his hands together and then let them fall to his sides._

"_Your mother knows about me."_

"_She knows _what?"

"_She knows I'm gay. She and I decided together that we would stay married for your sake and hers until you graduated high school."_

"_But, but I just started my sophomore year." With all he had told her, it was the only thing she could comment on sanely, the only thing she could latch on to with any sense of understanding._

"_I know, sweetheart, but I…" Harold trailed off, not knowing how he was supposed to tell his only daughter this._

"_You what?" This time, she wasn't going to let him off the hook. He was going to be the one to say it._

"_I fell in love."_

"_Oh my God." Blair clutched the photo in her right hand. "With _him_?" Harold visibly flinched._

"_I'm so sorry."_

"_You're sorry? For what, lying to me for God knows how long? For making my mother lie to me? For leaving us? For breaking this family apart? Because we're not a family anymore, and it's because of you."_

"_Blair…"_

"_It's all your fault! So just _leave!" _She tore up the photo of the two of them and let it fall to his feet like snowflakes, daintily twirling until they hit the floor, no two pieces the same. "Don't worry. I won't touch the one of you and your precious replacement life!"_

"_I'm not replacing anyone. You're still my daughter, and I'm still – "_

"_No you're not! You're not my father! You're not anything! I don't even know who you are, and I want you to go now! I'm never speaking to you ever, ever again."_

"_Please don't say that." He reached toward her, and she slapped his hand away._

"_Get out." There was venom infused into her words, and Harold finally gave up._

"_Okay. But I'm not going to stay away forever. I know you're angry, and I understand – "_

"_Good. I'm glad we're clear on that at least. But now, let _me _be clear. I don't _want_ you in my life. I know I said I didn't want you to leave us, but now I want you to go and not come back." Both father and daughter were shaking, tears falling like rainfall, and the thunder of the storm outside could be heard through the walls of their penthouse. It seemed to be threatening Harold as well, its menacing rumble echoing, "Get out. Get out." Harold's shoulders sagged, and he picked up his numerous bags and walked to the elevator._

"_I love you, Blair Bear. Je t'aime à la lune et retour, vous savez. Even if you forget everything else, at least remember that." Blair said nothing. She said nothing when the elevator doors swooped together, making her father disappear. She said nothing when she heard the sirens, because this was New York City, and there were always accidents waiting to happen, just not in _her_ life. She said nothing when her mother answered a phone call at three o'clock in the morning and rushed Blair to the hospital, because her father had been in a horrible car accident, and they didn't think he was going to make it. She said nothing when the doctors informed them that they were too late; her father was already gone. She said nothing until the first nightmare came that night, of her father bruised, bloody, and broken, lying on the street and crying out to her, asking her to save him, to ask him to stay. And she didn't help him. She let him die, and she watched as he did. And when she opened her eyes and shot up in bed, she spoke._

"_It's all my fault."_

* * *

"Honey, can you hear me?" Blair's eyes couldn't focus, and everything was so blurry. It took her a second to recognize the concerned face in front of her. It was the father of the little girl at the duck pond. And suddenly, she couldn't bear her burden any longer. It was too heavy, too difficult to keep carrying alone, so she blurted out the only thing she could think of, the only thing that had been on her mind every time she tried to close her eyes and sleep.

"It's all my fault." And she blacked out.

* * *

The next time she awoke, Blair saw white everywhere. Starched clothing, blank walls, the thin sheets she was swimming in… it was all white as snow, and the color oddly comforted her. She and her father had loved playing in the snow in Central Park during Christmastime. They would build snow families – a mommy, a daddy, and a daughter, and they'd all be wrapped up in a brand new designer scarf. The father snowman would get a knit hat, the mother a pair of fashionable, dainty eyeglasses, and the daughter a shiny headband. And Blair would take a picture of her perfect creations, the perfection reflecting that of her own family. Now, she looked around in a daze and imagined that the snow was falling in the room, and there were three perfect snow people proudly standing by her bed. And the white light started to get brighter, and Blair could see a shadow moving in it, inching toward her, but she couldn't tell what it was.

"It's just me, Blair Bear." She jumped as the shadow walked forward and revealed itself to be her father. And she was so happy, because maybe this meant that everything was okay, that maybe this had all been some crazy nightmare, that maybe this past year of a wake, a funeral, a burial, sympathetic stares, knowing whispers… that maybe none of it had happened.

"Gosh, Daddy. You scared me!" And the white light consumed her and led her back into unconsciousness.

* * *

A/N 3: Eek! Cliffhanger! Don't hate me for it... And also, I hope you aren't too upset about the miscommunication that occurred between Blair and Chuck here. I think that every couple needs their obstacles, and while I would never go to the level of Blair marrying a prince that makes me want to fall asleep or a romance (I use that term loosely) between the two least compatible characters on the show (here's looking at you, Dair), I do think it's important to have their journey be a realistically complicated one, because both Chuck and Blair are extremely complicated, layered characters with so many options to explore, and that's what makes them so fantastic to read and write about. (And watch of course!)

A/N 4: In the next chapter, you can expect to find out where Bart took Chuck on his little "field trip," what's going down between C/B, and how Eleanor, Serena, and the rest of the gang will react to Blair being in the hospital. Will she finally spill her secret to them? Only time will tell...


	11. Dreaming

A/N: Hey, remember me? It's been a bit longer than usual... Sorry about that. Things have been a little crazy lately. Though, admittedly I did find the time to see The Dark Knight Rises. Twice. But, hey, who am I to say no to seeing Christian Bale's gorgeous face on an abnormally large screen? Anyway, this chapter's a little shorter than my other recent ones, but I've also been having some writer's block, so there's that. But I think it turned out okay, and the last scene is obviously Blair's subconscious so I added some notes a la Terrabeth in Into the Woods (if you haven't read it, you should because it's _great_), but don't feel like you have to read them. I just think it will help with the whole "deeper" meaning. Anyhoo, enough chitchat. I hope you like, and remember to please review!

P.S. Is anyone feeling like they can't possibly wait until the fall? I miss Gossip Girl, sucky writing and all!

* * *

**Chapter 11**

"_I don't think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains."__  
__~ Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl_

"_Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself._

_~ Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist_

"Serena?" I raised my head at the sound of Eleanor Waldorf's voice.

"Hi, Ms. Waldorf," I said, already knowing my voice betrayed my heavy despondency.

"It's Eleanor," she corrected me, her voice still shockingly calm considering Blair was in a hospital room only a hundred feet away.

"Eleanor. Right. Do you happen to know anything about Blair's condition? I tried flirting with a doctor, but he turned out to be gay. And then he told me my shoes were ugly." I buried my head back in my hands, and felt the warming of cheeks wet with a fresh set of tears. I didn't care that the doctor had said my shoes were ugly, but any kind of insult was enough to send me into another frenzy of sadness, angry sadness, confused sadness, but mostly _sad_ sadness, the real kind of sadness that constricts your breathing and wraps a black hand around your heart, threatening to squeeze it out at any second. The kind of sadness that makes you want to let it.

"I was told very little. I'm afraid that with my daughter, this could be another case of theatrics to get attention." Eleanor rolled her eyes in a way that was strikingly similar to the daughter she spoke of. "And your shoes are _very_ in, by the way," she added. "Don't give that doctor a second thought." I always knew that Eleanor was Blair's second biggest critic – Blair herself being the first – but this was ridiculous and infuriating, enough that I momentarily forgot my sadness in order to focus on what I could say to Eleanor to get through to her, to make her realize that this was serious. But before I got the chance, a female doctor interrupted us to give Eleanor a diagnosis.

"Are you Eleanor Waldorf?" the doctor asked, inspecting her clipboard as she squinted her eyes to read it.

"Yes," Eleanor replied. "And you are?"

"Dr. Rosalind Granger," she said, sticking out a hand in introduction, which Eleanor reluctantly shook, noting that the doctor's hair was a frizzy, lopsided mess, no doubt the work of a sub-par cut at Great Clips. "I'm Blair's doctor."

"Well, pray tell me what is going on with that daughter of mine. I hope she hasn't given you any trouble." Dr. Granger's brows furrowed in confusion.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Ms. Waldorf, considering Blair has been unconscious and unresponsive the entire time she's been here." Finally, Eleanor seemed to react, to feel _something._ Her mouth opened and she let out a gasp.

"Unconscious?"

"Were you not informed of this? Blair hit her head on the sidewalk after fainting in Central Park, and she has yet to respond to any of the external stimuli we have employed in attempts to wake her. Although she briefly responded to the man who saw her faint, she has woken since. We conducted a CT scan, from which we concluded that her brain is significantly swelled, and this is affecting the ability of oxygen to reach it. Additionally, the swelling is causing some internal bleeding between her brain and skull. In another few hours, she'll be officially comatose."

"C-Comatose?" Eleanor could only echo Dr. Granger's words, which was highly unusual, considering the woman usually couldn't get enough of her own voice. She stared at the white walls of the hospital, the bland paintings that lined them, and the people around her, crying, talking, praying, or sitting quietly reading three-year-old issues of _National Geographic_, but she saw none of it. All she could see was Blair's face, lit up by chocolate eyes Eleanor feared wouldn't open for days, weeks, months… The word "comatose" was one of the scariest she had ever heard.

"Yes, Ms. Waldorf. Fortunately, Blair has been stabilized, and therefore, we feel she is safe to move from the ICU. We will continue to monitor her internal bleeding and make sure the pressure from the swelling does not reach dangerous levels by conducting CT scans, and the other goal is to keep her breathing and her blood circulating." Eleanor nodded dumbly to Dr. Granger's words, and I felt I needed to interject to get more information for both of us.

"How long could she be in the coma?"

"That I can't tell you," Dr. Granger admitted, in a way that sounded like regret. "I'm sorry, but these types of situations are highly unpredictable. And given your daughter's medical condition, it could complicate things even further."

"Condition?" Eleanor repeated. "What condition?"

"Her bulimia," the doctor informed them calmly. "Did you not know that your daughter was suffering from an eating disorder? It's clear from the electrolyte imbalance in her blood work as well as her serious dehydration and the broken blood vessel in her left eye. That's due to the strain of forcing herself to vomit, and it's causing her eye to appear redder than usual." Eleanor sat down and slumped into a fetal position, wrapping herself up tightly.

"My God," she whispered. "I've been such a terrible mother." Dr. Granger appeared as if she was about to intervene, but I held up a hand and mouthed "I've got this."

"Eleanor," I said softly, rubbing fluid circles in her back. "Don't blame yourself, because it won't help Blair now. We need to focus on how she's going to get better, not whose fault it is that she's sick." Eleanor cast her eyes in my direction.

"Why aren't you surprised that she has an eating disorder? How _dare_ you know and not tell me!" she shouted, untangling her limbs and standing erect in the perfect posture she had forced upon Blair.

"I – I caught her once," I relented weakly. "But she swore she wouldn't ever do it again, and I didn't ever see it after that! Maybe the signs were there, and I guess that's why I'm not shocked now, but I was willing to accept that she had stopped, because I – I didn't want to see her like that." Eleanor's glare softened into a look full of tiredness and pain.

"I'm sorry for my outburst, Serena. I just needed someone to point the finger at, because otherwise, I have to admit that it's my fault."

"Eleanor, please, don't do that to yourself. Blair wouldn't want that."

"The worst part is, I don't even _know_ what my daughter would want. I can't remember the last time I asked her what she wanted or what she thought about anything. I've been so hard on my little girl…" Eleanor's voice broke, and I saw more emotion in her face than I'd ever seen before.

"It's going to be okay," I offered, giving her an awkward hug that I hoped would help her feel a little better. It didn't.

"And we haven't hugged since before her father died!" Eleanor cried, attracting glances of sympathy from fellow hospital visitors.

"How about you go get some coffee?" I suggested. "My mom is on her way here, and I'll have her meet you downstairs. I'll stay in the waiting room and come get you when we're allowed to see Blair."

"Yes, I suppose that would be alright," Eleanor agreed quietly, patting down her Chanel tweed jacket meticulously and smoothing her hair back into place.

"Good. And Eleanor?"

"Yes?"

"It's going to be okay." I wondered – does it count as lying if you don't know whether it's true? Because I didn't. Blair was always the assured one, the confident one, and yet she was also the one lying in a hospital bed, and I had to take on her role for everyone else. Blair was supposed to hold me together, be the glue when I felt I was going to fall to pieces. If she didn't wake up… I couldn't imagine it. I would shatter and no doubt end up becoming everything I never wanted to be, because Blair wouldn't be there to stop me, and she was the only one who had ever tried.

* * *

"So, how was the Big Bad Bart's field trip of hell?" Nate asked, lighting up a joint in a secluded area of the Palace's bar. Not only did no one notice, no one cared. He was sitting next to the owner's son after all, and Chuck paid them very handsomely _not_ to care.

"I think 'hell' pretty much covers it," Chuck sighed, motioning for Nate to hand over the lighter.

"Where'd you go?" Nate knew that Bart was a sore subject for Chuck, as it frequently brought out Chuck's more truculent side, but now, Nate had two things going for him. One, Chuck had been much more amiable to everyone ever since he met Blair, even the nosy maids and other workers toward whom he was usually belligerent. Two, if there was ever a time to talk about serious matters, it was when you were high. It knocked down your internal walls, and he and Chuck had grown to enjoy the brotherly discussions they had under the influence of a light buzz.

"The bank," Chuck said, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke out in practiced puffs. "He cut me off."

"He – he what?"

"I hope you like hanging here, because at the moment, it's the only place I can afford to go to." Chuck shrugged and swirled his scotch around in its glass. "Unless of course, you'd like to pay for one of our nights of debauchery."

"Yeah, right. My parents would have a heart attack if they saw that coming out of my trust fund. Mom monitors every cent I spend." Nate shuddered, recalling that the last time they'd had a "night of debauchery," Chuck had spent nearly four grand without even trying. "But I can't believe your dad would actually do that," he added.

"There isn't anything he wouldn't do to discipline me," Chuck replied coldly. "I was lucky I got to keep my limo service."

"Well that's good. And it appears you got to keep your scarf collection too. I was so worried," Nate mumbled sarcastically, inspecting the red, white, and navy checked scarf Chuck was sporting. Bart commonly used taking away Chuck's many scarves as a threat, but he had yet to follow through on it, probably waiting until winter hit to use it. Chuck stroked the squared J Press and raised his eyebrows contumeliously toward Nate.

"Don't mock the scarf, Nathaniel," he drawled. "Obviously, you wish you were debonair enough to pull them off, but I'm afraid it takes a certain flair you lack."

"And what kind of flair is that?" Nate scoffed.

"I'm Chuck Bass. I'm the _epitome_ of flair."

"You're also the epitome of narcissism," he threw back in annoyance.

"Such big words Nathaniel. Don't strain yourself. And also, I'll have you know that they cut _quite_ deeply." Nate rolled his eyes at his best friend, whose ridiculousness seemed to be on another level this evening.

"Sure they do." Chuck opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by the beeping and buzzing of Nate's cell phone. His would have beeped too, he thought bitterly, if it wasn't locked away in his father's safe. "Gossip Girl," Nate said, scanning the words quickly.

"Well? I'm waiting." Chuck set down his drink and snuffed out the stub of a joint that remained between his fingers. "Though I probably already know whatever secondhand gossip she has for us today."

"It's – it's Blair," Nate spluttered, nearly choking on the sip of beer he'd taken. Chuck was up like a shot.

"What's wrong?" Gone was his look of assured self-satisfaction, instantaneously replaced by one of genuine trepidation.

"She's in the hospital. She – she fell and hit her head in the park, and now she's… Oh God." Nate glanced over at his friend, who was frantically pacing in calculated steps (two forward, turn, two back) and stopped only to stare down Nate with hauntingly tenebrous eyes.

"She's _WHAT_?"

"In a coma," Nate whispered, running his hands through his golden hair, which was already mussed from sliding it against the back of the leather booth. Chuck grabbed Nate's cell and dialed a number with lightning fingers.

"Arthur? I need you to pick us up from The Palace. Now."

* * *

Blair looped an arm through her father's as they strolled along the path, which was covered with many feet of snow.

"Daddy, why is the snow so dirty?" Blair asked, wrinkling her nose at the muddy snow she was treading through. [1]

"This is New York City, Blair," he supplied, "What do you expect?" His eyes twinkled in good humor, and Blair laughed.

"Yes, I suppose you have a point," she agreed. "But there's so much of it. How long has it been snowing like this?"

"It's been a long winter," her father said lugubriously. "We've been getting snow for months. I keep hoping for spring and the snow to melt, but it just keeps on falling." [2]

"I think snow is the most beautiful thing to see in the world," she sighed, tightening the belt of her thick, blood red coat, a striking contrast to the delicate snowflakes, and reaching out a gloved hand to catch a few in her palm. [3]

"It can't hold a candle to the sight of you, Blair Bear." Blair grinned at her father's compliment. Just then, they came upon the duck pond, and Blair pulled out a loaf of bread out of her purse and trekked across the frozen ground until she reached the water's edge. There, white ducks quacked at each other as they swam in the frigid water and waddled on top of the snow. [4] Blair tossed out a few scraps and waited for the ducks to charge her, as they always did when she offered them tasty treats. But this time, they didn't come toward her. Instead, they moved in the opposite direction, opting to swim further down the bank. Blair's utter confusion morphed into disgust as she looked down at the bread in her hands and realized it was covered in a carpet of gray-green mold. [5]

"Ew!" she screeched, tossing the loaf over her shoulder in revulsion. "Let's go, Daddy. Obviously this is a sign that the ducks don't need to be fed today."

"Okay then," her father complied, offering her his arm again, which she immediately took. "Where shall we go?"

"Hm…how about Bergdorf's for a little shopping?" Blair suggested. [6] Harold simply nodded in agreement. He held up a hand, and a sparkling coach drawn by a silky black horse trotted to where they stood. The strong, muscular horse snorted, flaring out its nostrils, and it kicked up its heavy hooves impatiently as Blair and her father climbed in. [7] The streets were difficult to get through because of the rolling hills of snow that continued to grow taller, but their horse was able to carry them through it, and there was no traffic to contend with. Actually, theirs was the only moving thing Blair could see anywhere. The buildings were the same as always, along with the rest of the sights of the city, but there were no people milling about. [8] This aberrant environment normally would have bothered her, but she was too distracted by everything else that was going on. When they reached the store Blair knew so well, she immediately dashed to the formal gown section and clapped her hands together as she squealed in glee in the direction of her father. [9] She grabbed a glittering silver ball gown off the rack and twirled, holding it across her chest. "It's perfect! Just like Cinderella." [10]

"It is perfect, isn't it?" agreed Harold, inspecting the dress Blair was clutching.

"Excuse me, but I'm going to need to take that from you," a sharp voice cut in. Blair looked over her shoulder to her left and saw her mother standing with her hands on her hips and her lips drawn into a thin red line.

"Mother? Why would you take it? It's mine. I found it, and now it belongs to me." She felt her eyes start to fill with tears.

"You need to let it go, Blair," her mother warned her. "It's not for you." [11]

"Then who is it for?" Blair asked anxiously. She let her mother take the garment out of her hands and waited until she returned, a tall, beautiful blond by her side. "Serena?"

"Hello Blair." Serena flashed her a bright smile and twirled in the dress the way Blair had before, only Serena's spin was more graceful, and the lights made the dress look like it was flickering with tiny stars.

"It looks much better on her than it would on you, don't you agree?" Eleanor asked. Blair could only nod mutely in answer. [12]

"That's alright, Blair Bear," her father said softly. "How about this one?" He held up a gold gown with off-the-shoulder sleeves, a rigid bodice, and ruffles all down the skirt.

"It looks like Belle's dress," she commented, fingering the silk of the dress.

"Try it on now, Blair," Harold encouraged, dropping the dress into Blair's arms. Blair complied and walked to one of the back rooms to change into the gown. Once she was ready, she looked into the mirror and gasped, taking a few steps back. The mirror was broken, its cracks creating a spider's web across the whole of the cold glass. Blair couldn't even see how she looked in the dress or whether it was prettier than that of Cinderella's. [13] She supposed she would have to ask her parents, so she returned to the previous section of the store but didn't see anyone. Annoyed by their wandering, Blair walked downstairs but with no better luck. She looked down, and though she was still clad in the unpurchased dress, she figured it wouldn't do any harm to walk out onto the street in it – it was deserted after all, and she wanted something to show for her shopping trip. [14]

"Daddy?" she called out. "Daddy? Where are you?" She didn't receive an answer, and she began to cry, letting the tears fall onto the gold silk that covered her. Only once the tears hit the silk, they turned to droplets of fire, and the dress began to smoke, sending billows of it over her head and into the ominous gray clouds above. [15] She knew she needed to stop, but it only made the tears fall faster, and soon, the fabric of the dress was turning to ashes, falling down to her feet in little sooty piles. Blair was left in only her underwear and the snow was still coming down, the white blurring her vision and chilling her to the bone. After looking around for something to cover herself with and coming to the conclusion that there was nothing to use, she settled on crossing her arms tightly over her chest. [16] "Daddy?" she cried out again. "Why did you leave me? Where are you?" Still alone, Blair began to run to where they had parked their carriage and sucked in a breath when she was greeted with the sight of the black mare lying dead on the ground, its blood oozing out of its coat. "Oh no!" she screamed. She backed away from the dead animal and sprinted away from the scene, desperate to get as far as she could. [17] "Daddy?" she tried one last time.

"Blair?" It was his voice!

"Keep talking, and I'll come to you!" she ordered, picking up her speed.

"Blair, I have to go," she heard her father say, but she couldn't place where his voice was coming from, whether it was east or west, north or south.

"But, Daddy, I'm almost there! Just talk a little longer," she begged.

"We'll see each other again," he promised, warmth in his voice. "But there's somewhere I need to get back to. I'm happy there, and now it's home."

"Daddy!" she shouted. "Don't leave me!"

"I never will, Blair Bear." It was a whisper as soft as the whipping of the icy wind, but the words carried to where Blair was still frantically running. She continued to move even after it faded, going in loops and circles until she was back where she started and felt as if she was going to fall over in exhaustion. [18] With one last effort, she darted down the street and was crushed by a hard surface slamming against her face. She slowly stood up and pressed her hands against whatever it was she had run into. It was glass. Looking up, it dawned on her that this was no ordinary Manhattan. She was standing in a dome – a snow globe. [19] She screamed and cried, pounding against the glass, hurling her fists as hard and fast as they could go.

"Let me out! Let me out!" Her body was shaking, and after what felt like hours, she slid down and sat in the snow, letting the numbness of the cold overtake her. She closed her eyes and imagined the best memories she'd had with her father, smiling as she reminisced about a particularly spectacular sixth birthday he'd planned for her – complete with a mountain of pink cake and a mountain of gifts to match. But the best part was when he'd sang her "Happy Birthday" in French and told her how proud he was that she was his little girl. Blair tucked her knees into her chest and rubbed her legs absentmindedly. Her father had promised that they would see each other again, and she believed him, because he loved her enough to make it happen, and she loved him just as much. When Blair eventually opened her eyes, the snow had stopped falling, and the mounds of white were melting, sinking into the ground and flushing down the sewer drains on the street. She reluctantly stood and reached a hand out toward where she expected the glass to be. But it wasn't there. [20] She laughed and whooped and spun with joy until noticing that despite the missing glass and disappearing snow, there was something else missing beneath her. The ground.

Blair was suddenly falling at an alarming rate, her flailing limbs completely useless as the skyscrapers stretched out further and further away, until they were just tiny gray pricks in the distance. Still, her arms continued to flap about in desperation as she drifted deeper into oblivion. Below her, she spied a shadowy ground, the place she would land and possibly die, because how could she survive this fall? She screwed her eyes shut, bracing herself for the impact in peace, but just as she began to feel the pavement scraping against her legs…[21]

"Blair?"

"Waldorf?"

"B?"

"Darling, you're awake!"

* * *

So, if you're interested, here's a little cheat sheet to the meaning of Blair's dream:

[1]: Dirty snow symbolizes a loss of innocence, impurity, and being tainted by wrongdoing.

[2]: The snow not melting represents that she isn't releasing her emotions, and the lack of spring as well as the many months of snow symbolize how cold and shut off she's been since Harold's death.

[3]: The fact that she's wearing a thick coat represents her defensiveness and protectiveness, and red is traditionally a symbol of betrayal. Blair feels she has betrayed her father, furthered by the detail that it's "blood" red.

[4]: White ducks signify deceit and falsehood. I'm not sure why, but they do.

[5]: The mold is a symbol of Blair ignoring something bad until it continuously grows, spreading over all other aspects of her life – bread is a symbol of life.

[6]: Blair's immediate reaction to her disappointment is to shop – compensating for her emotional loss through material gains.

[7]: Not only is the entire horse drawn carriage symbolic of Blair's desire to live a fairytale life, but also the wild horse itself is representative of her uncontrolled emotions.

[8]: Blair is feeling alone in her life, and the city she imagines in her subconscious is reflective of this.

[9]: Blair still feels like a little girl around her father. She misses this aspect of her life – being Harold's little princess.

[10]: While Blair during her date with Chuck said she didn't want to be Cinderella, preferring to be Belle, her subconscious still views Cinderella as the "perfect" one, so that's who Blair aspires to be in her dream.

[11]: Blair wants to have the Cinderella fairytale, but her mother is informing her that that's not who she is – that's not the life she's meant to live.

[12]: Obviously, this brings Blair's jealousy of Serena to the forefront of the dream.

[13]: The cracked mirror showcases that Blair has a very poor, distorted self-image. Also, she can't tell whether the gold dress is prettier than the "Cinderella" gown – she hasn't decided whether she is ready to give up her planned out fairytale yet, because she's not sure the alternative is better.

[14]: Again, Blair uses material items to make up for a lack of needs – shoplifting represents that she is being deprived of the love and attention she desires, so she has to take other things to fill up the empty spaces.

[15]: Blair's secret is literally burning her up on the inside, evident by the tears that turn to flame, and the clouds above her are "ominous" because she believes something bad will happen if she tells.

[16]: Blair doesn't like being exposed – she doesn't want to reveal her true feelings or inner thoughts, AKA her secret.

[17]: The dead horse is symbolic of something that once gave her strength (her father) no longer being in her life. She is, of course, horrified and wants to get away from it like she does the memory of her father's death.

[18]: She's gone over the possibility of telling/not telling in her mind so many times that she's running in circles.

[19]: Blair is feeling trapped by her emotions and fear, and her secret is holding her back from escaping the past and moving forward in her life. She is stuck in winter.

[20]: Coming to terms with her secret is melting the snow – the hardness and coldness in her heart.

[21]: Blair is bracing herself for the imminent fall she will suffer from telling her secret to those she cares about – the ones who are there when she wakes. Just as she is about to hit the ground, she becomes conscious and they are there for her. Foreshadowing, perhaps?

A/N 2: I'll try to update quicker this time, promise! And of course, X's and O's to any who leave a review! ;)


	12. Accepting

A/N: This one is a little shortish too, but I think it's good, so hopefully what's lacking in quantity will be made up for in quality, with the exception of grammatical errors that I missed due to my lack of proofreading, of course ;) Let me know if you agree! Or disagree... I'm open to any opinion you've got. P.S. I love John Green. Read all his books.

A/N 2: Oh, and last but not least, a special thank you to livelovelaugh9704 for allowing me to bounce off my ideas! You are _awesome_!

* * *

**Chapter 12**

_"When adults say, "Teenagers think they are invincible" with that sly, stupid smile on their faces, they don't know how right they are. We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. We think that we are invincible because we are. We cannot be born, and we cannot die. Like all energy, we can only change shapes and sizes and manifestations. They forget that when they get old. They get scared of losing and failing. But that part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail."__  
__~ John Green_

_"Blair?"_

_ "Waldorf?"_

"_B?"_

_ "Darling, you're awake!"_

"Where am I?" Blair turned her head every which way, scanning the concerned faces surrounding her. I sat next to Eleanor, and Chuck and Nate leaned against the wall, their arms crossed, and a crumpled newspaper stuck out of Chuck's pocket, its unassuming black and white plain against the vibrant hue of his jacket. I had flipped when he and his ostentatious limousine were first spotted on Gossip Girl and vehemently denied Chuck's first requests to be allowed into the room, but after his explanation of the events of the afternoon, coupled with the earnestness in his eyes, I decided that I may as well foist the duo onto Eleanor as means of distraction. While Blair wasn't particularly close to Nate (they had texted a few times, mostly concerning Chuck, and seen each other at the masquerade party and cookout), I could tell Chuck needed a support system. At first, I expected Eleanor to balk at the idea of letting an infamous lothario into her daughter's hospital room, but during their exchange, her eyes began to soften and she ushered Chuck, along with his quieter blond foil, into the stark white room. Whether it was her grief or his sincerity that made her amenable, I wasn't sure, but it seemed Eleanor had taken a liking to the young Bass. For the past hour or so, they had discussed various business tactics possible for Waldorf Designs and avoided mentioning the girl in the hospital bed, with the exception of Eleanor asking how he knew Blair. Chuck parried the question with a cryptic answer that Eleanor didn't attempt to decipher, and they then began to pass sections of _The Times _and _The Journal _back and forth until Blair's eyes flickered open.

"You're in the hospital, Blair," Eleanor said softly, her fingers gently brushing aside Blair's unkempt curls. Blair looked taken aback at both Eleanor's admission as well as her motherly gesture, but she soon settled into an enigmatic countenance.

"Oh," she said simply. "Am I okay?" Chuck's eyes honed in on her face, attempting to break its inscrutable expression, but Blair neither looked at him nor gave way to any emotion.

"I think, perhaps, Blair and I should have a talk," her mother remarked in the direction of the other occupants of the small hospital room.

"Of course," Chuck mumbled, giving Blair one last fleeting look before turning away.

"We'll be back to see you Blair," said Nate, flashing her a comforting grin. "I bought you the new issue of _Vogue_ at the café downstairs. Chuck said it's your favorite."

"Thanks, Nate. That's sweet." He left, leaving only Eleanor and me beside her.

"Come here, B." I threw my arms around Blair's thin shoulders, and I realized with a shudder just how delicate and petite they were. It was only hours ago that I had been similarly embracing her in front of our cabs, yet the thought hadn't even crossed my mind. If only I'd known then what I knew now. But that's how things always go, isn't it? After tragedy, the _if only's_ begin to invade your mind, taunting you, torturing you over what you could have done to prevent it. And all you're left with is the truth. It's too late. You can't change the past because of your ability to see your mistakes clearly in the future. But you can damn sure apologize for them. "I'm so, so sorry!" I held my best friend even tighter.

"Serena, _get_ _off_!" she shouted breathily, shoving me with all the force her limbs could muster. "I don't know if you realized that I'm in the hospital? I don't think they look upon you kindly when you strangle a patient to death." I smiled weakly at her snide remark, but didn't want her to brush off my apology.

"B, I really am sorry. I should have paid more attention to the way you were acting. I knew something was up, and I could have – I _should _have stopped you from doing that to yourself."

"It's not your fault, S," she whispered, holding her arms out as an invitation back in. I hugged her, more gently this time, before she sent me out into the hallway where the two boys were waiting.

…

"Blair, there are so many things I have to say to you. I don't seem to know where best to begin." Eleanor Waldorf stood, then sat, then proceeded to stand and sit once again, until finally coming to a rest in the armchair next to Blair's bed, her ankles crossed and her eyes puffy and glassy with tears.

"Well, maybe you can start by reminding me what happened," Blair suggested, her tone even.

"You were at the park, by the duck pond, and you fainted. You hit your head, and then you were brought to the hospital and went into a coma for a few hours. And when your doctor gave me the diagnosis, she mentioned… Well she told me about…"

"My bulimia." Blair completed her mother's sentence, her eyes downcast, her long, dark lashes cloaking their brown orbs. "I'm sorry, I know it's awful and unsafe, and – "

"And you also never would have done it if it hadn't been for me." One of the unshed tears managed to escape and slide down the hard planes of Eleanor's weary face.

"What?"

"I was _so_ hard on you, very often your looks. Blair, I want you to know that you are _beautiful. _And I realize now that I probably led you to believe that you weren't. I'm so very sorry, darling." Eleanor grabbed one of Blair's hands, wrapping it in a cocoon of her larger, warmer ones. "I promise I will be the mother you deserve from now on, because you deserve so much better than what I've been to you this past year. Ever since your father passed…" She choked up, a low sob emitting her throat.

"Mom…" It had been nearly twelve months since Blair had used the shortened term for her mother, but the shock of Eleanor's speech had given way to instinct, and in her heart, she still craved the close, loving relationship they had once shared. "It's okay."

"No, no it's not!" Eleanor's face was now streaked with tears, but she didn't let her hands leave Blair's. "I suppose it was my way of dealing with the grief over your father, but there's no excuse for the way I've acted. I released all my pent up hurt and frustration on you, even though you were dealing with your own, and I… I'm going to make it up to you. From now on, us Waldorf women are going to be honest with each other. I love you, Blair, and I'm sorry."

"I – I forgive you. And I love you too, Mom." Blair slipped her hand out of the encasing of flesh her mother's provided, and gave her a timid embrace, the gesture at first awkward but then familiar as they fit back together. "But if we're going to be honest, there's something else you need to know. It's about the night Daddy died." Eleanor was quiet as Blair relayed the events of the evening Harold Waldorf died, speaking only when she needed Blair to reiterate parts of the narrative. At the end, she simply held her daughter close, a wordless acceptance for the pain Blair believed she had caused. "I'm sorry for not telling you before."

"We were both suffering from communication issues," Eleanor said gently. "And I should have told _you_ the truth about what was going on between your father and I. I had a feeling he was becoming restless, and our happy façade was growing weaker. But, Blair, I want to be certain that you know what happened to him was not a result of you. It was an accident. A tragic one, to be sure, but an accident all the same."

"I know that now," responded Blair in a nearly imperceptible voice as Eleanor pressed their foreheads together.

"Would you like me to send in Serena?" she asked.

"Yes, I'd like that." She and her mother exchanged smiles, and relief and happiness at their reconciliation swept over the Waldorfs, young and old.

…

I reentered Blair's hospital room to a much less docile Blair.

"What does that _Basshole _think he's doing here? And _why _would you ever let him in my room? I'm wearing a hospital gown covered in teddy bears, for God's sake!" I ducked as one of her pillows flew over my head, and in fear for my own safety, I refrained from taking any more steps toward the seething brunette. She was small, but her arm had range _and_ deadly accuracy. "Wait, are those clothes for me?"

"Dorota dropped them." It was enough explanation for Blair; she stretched out her pale hands for the garments. "Remember when I told you it might be a big misunderstanding?" I asked, gingerly approaching her bedside while she took the clothes I laid in her open arms as a peace offering.

"You don't mean to tell me – "

"That Chuck got in trouble, Bart took his phone, and then he had to go to the bank just to watch Bart cut him off from his account?"

"I'm sorry, _what_?" Blair barked, in the midst of dragging the hideous hospital sheath over her head.

"Yeah, and then apparently, he tried to text you on Nate's phone, but you didn't answer, so they went to the Palace. That's where he was when he saw the Gossip Girl blast. He came right here, B," I said gently. "I think he really cares about you."

"He came right here?" she repeated, slipping on the thin, cashmere sweater I'd brought, its blue popping against the white washed walls.

"Mm-hm."

"Maybe you should… go get him?" The last few words were spoken in a voice so low, I hardly caught them, and pouncing on the chance to turn Blair's already pink cheeks cerise, I asked her to repeat her question. "Oh, come on, S, you heard me," she protested, her cheeks flushing to my satisfaction.

"Actually, it seems I'm hard of hearing these days. I guess listening to your shrill whining all these years has _finally _taken its toll," I pushed, attempting to goad her into a reaction.

"Fine! GO GET HIM!"

"Alright, alright, all you had to do was ask." I winked at Blair's dramatically indignant expression and jauntily waltzed into the hall to retrieve Chuck. Nate immediately stepped into line behind him and the tandem of friends, one dark, one light, entered into the room, a room devoid of color but for the splash of blue provided by Blair's sweater and the spots of pink still in her cheeks. But the entrance of Chuck may as well have been the arrival of an arcing rainbow, for all the color he brought.

"Blair, about earlier today – "

"Serena already explained on your behalf," she said, smiling at him with genuine warmth, eyes slightly apologetic.

"Oh, good." He let out a breath, and his face relaxed in relief. "I, uh, brought you something."

"The _Vogue_? I wouldn't hand it over just yet if I were you. Otherwise, I won't be paying you any attention for the next half hour." Chuck cracked a half-grin and shook his head.

"Not the _Vogue._ That one is all Nate. Mine's a little more…_personal_." His mouth shifted into a mischievous smirk, and Blair felt her insides twist together in expectation.

"Is it something I can open in front of Nate and Serena?" she asked.

"Well, I have no qualms about them seeing it. Here." He handed over a carefully wrapped red package with a black bow. "The gift shop here is actually pretty nice, but I'll be getting you a welcome home present from an establishment more suitable to our class as soon as you get out."

"I love presents," Blair sighed, releasing the silky bow and letting it slink off the side of the gift. She tore the paper carefully and opened the white box lying underneath. "Chuck!" she shrieked, smacking his arm before Nate or I had the chance to see what was within. "I don't want them seeing that!"

"Why not? It's _adorable_," he drawled, unaffected.

"Is this one of your fantasized perversions?" Blair shrieked.

I guffawed in spite of myself as I guessed as to what was in the package, while Nate remained impassive, the meaning of "perversion" escaping his grasp.

"Ooh, let me see!" I yelped, quickly snatching it out of Blair's hands. I laughed even louder as I viewed its contents. "Wow, you are going to look super sexy in this, Nurse Blair!"

"My thoughts exactly," said Chuck in agreement. "I have a feeling she'll take good care of me _and _look good doing it."

"And candy apple red pinstripes? _Very_ you," I continued, as Blair became additionally mortified by the second.

"Okay, that's enough!" Nate finally intervened after Blair's discomfort became too much for him to handle. "Down, boy," he ordered Chuck with a pointed look. "And fix your bow tie; it's all lopsided."

"Yes, Nathaniel. Anything else I can do for you?" Chuck's voice leaked false, sugary obsequiousness, and Blair and I shared a smile. I liked her boyfriend, or whatever it was that Chuck was to her, and his best friend more and more as time went on.

"Nope, I think that's it," Nate replied. Blair reached over and adjusted Chuck's asymmetrical bowtie herself until it satisfied her perfectionist eye.

"There," she said. "I like this one, by the way."

"Are you serious?" Nate sighed in good-natured exasperation, rolling his blue eyes toward the ceiling. "You're not supposed to encourage him!"

"What do you mean?" Blair's eyes narrowed in confusion.

"I think he wears enough purple already _without _us complimenting him on it. You may have just guaranteed that it will be the only color he wears for the rest of his life." Blair snickered and ran a hand down Chuck's lilac shirt.

"Well, I for one, _love _the purple," she said.

"And _now_ he'll wear it in the afterlife." The entire room laughed, and somehow, I knew that this feeling of belonging and contentment, this quartet of four very different people that had incredibly been brought together, would invariably be a part of my future.

"You know, I feel like you guys were supposed to see each other at that party," I said to Chuck and Blair. "It's brought us all together."

"Aw, Serena, are you going all sentimental on us?" Blair chirped, indulging me in my moment of maudlin reflection. I giggled and continued.

"Maybe so, but don't you agree? It's like fate or destiny or something. Like Romeo and Juliet!" I finished, pleased with my Shakespeare reference.

"S, Romeo and Juliet knew each other for three days and then mutually committed suicide. I'd rather not have my relationship be reflective of theirs." Her mouth was set in a droll little smirk, and her eyes were sparkling with mirth.

"Well, we have reached past the three day mark," Chuck put in, grabbing Blair's hand. "So I think we're clear on that front."

"Okay, so maybe the romance of Romeo and Juliet isn't the best thing to be compared to…" I relented.

"But it is a great love story!" commented Nate in his usual upbeat manner.

"No it's not," Chuck and Blair countered simultaneously before bursting into laughter.

"Nate, do you have any idea what happened in that play? I seem to remember you looking up lacrosse tricks on Youtube and downloading new apps on your phone during the entire course of it."

"Well, I did have to read for Romeo once," Nate said sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders. "It was the balcony scene."

"Oh, I _love_ that scene!" I shouted, launching into a recitation of what I could recollect. "Romeo, Romeo, where fore art thou, Romeo? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet!"

"Ugh, God, it's even worse hearing you say it a second time. Not to mention you skipped the entire middle section of her monologue."

"I think _someone's_ jealous she didn't get to be Juliet for the best part of the play!"

"_Please_, like I would want to read to the class out of a play as pedestrian as _Romeo and Juliet,_" Blair replied contumeliously. "I have artistic standards, you know."

"_Whatever, _B. I don't think you're being completely honest, but as your best friend, I'll accept it."

"I can assure you of my honesty on that front, but actually, there is something I need to tell you guys. It's important." All three pairs of eyes latched onto Blair as she picked an invisible piece of lint off her sweater and refrained from looking at us. "I know you all know that my dad died last year," she began, managing to keep the feeling from her voice. "The truth is, I talked to him the night he died, right before he was hit by the car." I saw Chuck squeeze her hand in reassuring encouragement, and she continued. "I woke up, because I heard some strange noises, and I saw my dad in the hallway. He didn't want me to go downstairs, but I did anyway, and I saw suitcases in the kitchen."

"B…" I let it go as Chuck shot me a look.

"Anyway, I figured out he was leaving and that my parents hadn't been really happy in years, just pretending to be for my sake. They planned on splitting up after I turned eighteen, but my dad fell in love with a thirty-one year-old model. A _male_ model. I freaked out, and I started screaming at him to get out. I was angry, but mostly I just felt hurt and betrayed that he could hide so much from me. So when that car hit him, I somehow convinced myself that it was my fault. I had practically pushed him into the elevator with my words, and I kept thinking that if I had asked him to stay, maybe he would have, and maybe he would still be alive." Her voice finally faltered, but she kept on. "And I had nightmares about it, so I hardly slept. Then after the funeral, my mom started acting different, and that made it all the worse. When I fainted, it was because I was having a flashback about that night, and I guess I was drugged up pretty strongly when I got here, because I had this dream about my dad, and it seemed so vivid. And maybe this will sound crazy, but when he told me that everything was okay, that he was happy, and that we would see each other again, I felt like it was really my dad. Like it was true." She directed her gaze to me. "That's what I've been hiding from you, S, and I'm sorry I didn't confide in you before. I wish I had."

"Oh, B!" This time, Chuck didn't attempt to stop me with either look or action, and I threw myself on Blair, perhaps squeezing even tighter than I had during the first hug I'd given her in this hospital room. I was suddenly hit with painful memories of my own secret, a secret that paralleled parts of Blair's. I attempted to filter _that_ emotion into my next words, not ready to give my own nightmare away yet. "I wish you had, too!"

"Love you, S," she said into my shoulder.

"I love you too, B." I rubbed her curls, which had been meticulously brushed out and smoothed before Chuck and Nate had entered, and then gave her a kiss on the very top of her head before releasing her.

"Bet you two think I'm pretty crazy, huh?" she asked the boys warily, her voice laced with the worry that they would answer in the affirmative.

"I think you were crazy to ever feel guilt over something like that," Chuck ventured, keeping their fingers linked and his eyes locked on Blair's. "As wacky as Serena's earlier _Romeo and Juliet _tirade was – "

"Hey!" I interjected. "I take offense at that!" Chuck rolled his eyes at me, all but ignoring my outburst.

"As wacky as it was, I think she did have a point about some things being fate, or destiny, whatever you want to call it. Some things are just set to happen, and no matter _what _we do or say, they're going to happen anyway." Blair's eyes glistened with tears and she gave Chuck a soft and grateful smile.

"Thank you," she said, cupping his cheek with her free hand.

"I know maybe it's not my place," Nate began tentatively, drawing Blair's attention away from Chuck, "because we haven't known each other that long, but Chuck's right. Look, Blair, I can already tell you've got a good heart, so you're not going to get any judgment from me, but I'm sure your dad really loved you, and he wouldn't want you to feel responsible for what happened."

"This is a no-judgment zone," I clarified.

"Criticism free," Nate added.

"You know what we are?" Blair asked animatedly, looking into each of our faces.

"What?" All three asked as one.

"I christen us the Non-Judging Breakfast Club," she announced, a smile lighting her face.

"I like it," said Nate, nodding his head in whole-hearted approval.

"I _love _it," I exaggerated, wanting to best my fellow blond.

"It's perfect." Of course, Chuck's words were what she most wanted to hear. Anything Blair did or said was expected to be perfect, but she definitely didn't mind hearing that it was. "The Non-Judging Breakfast Club," he echoed. "We need some drinks to make a toast."

"Well…" I said, raising an eyebrow and digging through my Chanel. "I _do_ happen to keep a couple water bottles in here for emergencies such as this." Nate grabbed paper cups out of the attached bathroom, and I poured a generous amount of vodka into them. It had been a long day.

"To the Non-Judging Breakfast Club!" Nate bellowed, taking a swig.

"Hear, hear!" The rest of us drank as well, even Blair, though her sips were few and far between. I was on my third before she had finished half of her first. But she still laughed and talked just as loudly as I as the night continued into early morning. Twice, doctors attempted to make us leave, but Chuck had come armed with his wallet and used the remainder of his hundred dollar bills (much to the protests of Blair, who ultimately settled on the compromise that she would pay him back) to ensure that they could stay as long as they pleased. They were in the midst of laughing hysterically at Nate, who was attempting to snort a Twizzler from the candy bar up his nose, when a fifth shadow cast itself across the wall.

"I'd apologize for interrupting," the voice said. "But what do you know? I really don't care." Georgina Sparks had returned to Manhattan.


	13. Threatening

A/N: I have decided that Georgina is really fun to write, and I am super excited about her storyline, so I hope this gets you excited too! I would love a review telling me what you think about her and any other parts of the chapter if you feel so inclined! On to chapter 13...

* * *

**Chapter 13**

"_There were once two sisters__  
__who were not afraid of the dark__  
__because the dark was full of the other's voice__  
__across the room,__  
__because even when the night was thick__  
__and starless__  
__they walked home together from the river__  
__seeing who could last the longest__  
__without turning on her flashlight,__  
__not afraid__  
__because sometimes in the pitch of night__  
__they'd lie on their backs__  
__in the middle of the path__  
__and look up until the stars came back__  
__and when they did,__  
__they'd reach their arms up to touch them__  
__and did."__  
__~ Jandy Nelson, The Sky Is Everywhere_

I was stunned into terrified silence. Nate was stunned into apprehensive silence. Chuck was stunned into irate silence. But Blair?

"Whoregina. I didn't realize you ever emerged from the brothels so early in the morning." Blair wasn't fazed in the slightest, or if she was, she didn't show it.

"Snow White," Georgina replied sharply, a leer gleaming across her nearly translucent skin. "I heard you had awoken, and I simply couldn't resist a visit. Though, admittedly, it _was_ difficult to tear myself away from the more… _pleasurable_ company I was enjoying."

"I wish you hadn't troubled yourself to do so," Blair replied, frostiness in both voice and expression. "Because I can guarantee you'll be gaining neither pleasure nor monetary compensation for your presence here."

"Oh, I don't know about that. Remember all the good times we've had?" She looked at all of our faces one by one as if telepathically igniting our memories with the moments we had spent with her. I involuntarily shuddered as her shrewd gaze lingered on me, nearly incinerating my mind with the recollection of the night I had last seen Georgina, its flames chewing me up from the inside out. "Especially you, _S,_" she added, drawing out Blair's nickname for me acrimoniously.

"Well, if Serena's expression is any indication, I think she'd rather you leave. In fact, I know we all would." Georgina looked incensed, but only fleetingly – she soon relaxed into a look of acerbic amusement and ignored Blair's suggestion.

"Wow, Princess Snow, you really have abandoned your ideas of Prince Charming, haven't you?" She let out a throaty laugh at the sight of Chuck and Blair's linked hands. "Though I suppose I can't pretend to be completely surprised. You always admired me deep down, didn't you B? And now not only do you have my personality in male form, but also he's one of my sloppy seconds. A win-win, don't you agree?" She let out another raspy cackle and took a lengthy swig of the glass of vodka that was closest.

"Think whatever you want of me, Georgina, because I couldn't care less about the opinion of a substance-addicted slut, but it must have been a mental institute you escaped from rather than a whorehouse if you truly believe the words that just came out of your herpes-encrusted mouth." A flurry of emotions passed through Chuck's face during Blair and Georgina's spat – anxiety, mortification, anger, defensiveness, intrigue, and pride among them – but it could only be admiration that now sparked his face.

"Let me think for a moment, Princess," she smarmed, tapping her temple as if indulging us in an insight of what went on in her brain.

"Please, Georgina, you haven't been able to _think_ since you first decimated your brain cells with alcohol at the age of twelve."

"It's very rude to interrupt, B, especially with an equally insulting statement. I would have thought your mother taught you better than that."

"My mother taught me to respect people who _deserve _my respect," Blair ground out, her eyes narrowed and dark.

"And mine taught me not to respect anyone, because people are all useless fucks anyway," Georgina answered, her eyes just as piercing. "In fact, that's one of the opinions Chuck and I have in common. As I was thinking before you so rudely interrupted me," she continued, ebony nails raking through her similarly colored, waist-length curtain of hair, "we share more than just a common history. Those substance-abusing and slutty tendencies you mentioned? You only need to Google his name to know he possesses both. Because, you see, your man and I are one and the same. How fitting that I was the one to bring him into his manhood in the first place." She laughed maliciously and knocked back the remaining clear alcohol in the tumbler, which only served to add a more languid sheen to her eyes. "Well, B? Don't you have anything to say?"

"I know I do," Chuck interjected, burning odium taking over. "Get the fuck out of this hospital room, and get the fuck out of all of our lives."

"Oh, did I hurt your feelings? My bad," she grinned, not at all apologetically. "I wasn't aware Blair had already turned the great Bass into a wallowing guppy. Testing the waters isn't allowed anymore, is it? I bet your pond gets lonely with only a frigid bitch for company."

"Not as lonely as you get when you realize no one can stand the idea of being around you." Chuck attempted to stand, but Blair held him down, one hand gripping his, the other locked on his arm.

"Well, would you look at that? Look's like _you're_ the bitch in this relationship," she remarked, her cutting comment directed at Chuck's pride.

"On the contrary, Georgina, the only bitch I see in this room is you. So why don't you just go back to the doghouse where you belong?" Chuck's jaw was so tense, I was surprised that Blair's fingers weren't cut as they gently swept across its edges.

"And why would I do that when picking a bone with you is so much fun?"

"Because I'll be calling security to escort you out if you don't," Chuck informed her.

"Or I can throw her out," Nate offered timidly, leaving me as the only one left to say a word. "It'd be good exercise," he added.

"Excellent point, Nathaniel," said Chuck. "And I have to agree that lifting an albino heifer would be beneficial to your athleticism." Blair smiled into Chuck's arm.

"Oh, you think that's funny, B?" She gave a bald impression of a laugh – "Ha, ha, ha. Well, we'll see who will be laughing in a few days time, won't we?" She took a second glass of vodka and demolished it in a few sips. "I'm going to rip you all apart until I can toss the humiliated shreds of you off the Brooklyn Bridge, until your even your parents are too ashamed and disgusted to jump in after you and put you back together." Her words were terrifying to me, and yet they pulled me in like magic, enthralling me as if I were under some sort of trance. It was witchcraft, and Georgina was a witch masterful enough to include a twist in her spell. "You have until sunset to decide what you want to do. Either do nothing or try to fight against me and watch your lives go up in flames, or join my side and come out of this unscathed and a part of the new royalty of Manhattan. Question is, will you all stick together and fall as one, or will some of you betray the others to save your own pathetic skin?" She offered a final guffaw as she left, this one more unsettling than all the others before it – so shrill and rough it seemed to bounce off the walls long after she was gone.

…

Jenny Humphrey had a knack for minding her own business. She knew when to keep silent in order to extract the most information, whether or not that information was hers to know. Currently, she was sitting quietly, her ankles crossed in the demure manner she'd seen in Blair, listening to the minions discuss the drama of Blair's hospital visit, and of course, selfish sycophants that they were at their core, the implications it had on _them_.

"Well, I for one think it's an absolute _tragedy,_" announced Penelope, still accepted in the crowd despite Blair's verbal abuse the day before. Was it really only a day previously that they had been casually conversing on the Met steps before school? To Jenny, it felt like eons.

"It really is," added Iz, slicking back her soaked through black ringlets, unfortunate casualties of the downpour outside the chic breakfast café. It seemed as if the weather was reflecting the darkened mood Blair's absence put over their conversations, the black cumulonimbus clouds signifying her looming presence.

"I've been checking Gossip Girl, but even she hasn't given out much information," Nelly said, checking her phone for the hundredth time that morning.

"I wish I knew what happened to her," sighed Kati dejectedly. "But she hasn't returned any of my texts _or _calls."

"Me either," Hazel put in, perhaps the only follower truly loyal to the queen. Hazel had an aura of innocence about her that many thought was insincere, but Jenny had only witnessed an endearing honesty in the older girl, and she admired her for what Penelope, Iz, Kati, and even Nelly frowned upon, who saw it as a weakness rather than the strength Jenny viewed it as. "I'm worried about her."

"So am I, but I think it's only logical that we elect a temporary queen to rule in her place." Penelope could hardly contain the smirk that her red lips were attempting to twist into.

"I assume you're proposing yourself for the job?" asked Iz irritably, making no attempt to mask her umbrage at the idea.

"It _is _natural for the second-in-command to take over after the first falls," she replied confidently.

"Maybe not everyone agrees that you're the best for the job. Just look at how much Brutus sucked after he took over for Caesar." Penelope glared at Iz after her comment; Iz returned the look of derision.

"Yeah, and _maybe_ not everyone has to agree. Majority rules, and I think we should put it to a vote."

"I'd like to take over too," said Kati, "so add me onto the ballot."

"And me." Nelly looked absolutely thrilled at the idea of being queen, even provisionally.

"_Fine._" Penelope took out a notepad and pen and began scribbling the four names onto the lined paper, her scrawl messy due to her obvious vexation. "But just think about what Blair would have wanted."

"If we're trying to do what Blair would have wanted, then I think Jenny should be in the running." All five pairs of eyes rocketed to Hazel, whose small voice had just caused the air to thicken with another layer of tension. Hazel pretended to take no notice of their reactions and drank her coffee quietly in graceful little sips.

"_What_ did you just say?" Penelope growled, anger coursing through her red cheeks to the curled tips of her dark waves.

"I know you know what I said," Hazel replied, her voice even quieter. "And that's who I'm voting for."

"Obviously you must have been dropped on your head as a child or something, but whatever, Hazel. One vote for Brooklyn. I vote for myself, so that makes one for me. Iz?"

"Write one down for me." Penelope complied; there was now a single tally next to the namesJenny, Penelope, and Iz. "Nelly?" Iz asked, looking to the girl on her right.

"One for me." And with that, it all came down to Jenny and Kati. Penelope saw the possibility of defeat if Kati didn't vote her way and immediately spoke up.

"Kati, your turn. I hope you'll make the right decision." Penelope could only wish for Kati to know where it was best to pledge her allegiance.

"I vote for…" The group sucked in a collective breath, their eyes open and ready to pop and their teeth clenched in anticipation. "Jenny."

…

"I cannot believe that impertinent chit," Blair complained, turning up her chin. "As if we would turn on each other just to mollify her. It's ridiculous."

"I second that," Chuck muttered darkly. "She's going down. It's not like she knows anything that damning, right?"

"Nothing I can think of," said Blair.

"And nothing on me," seconded Nate.

"Serena?" I flicked my eyes over to Chuck's questioning glance and assumed my expression told what my silence could not: "Oh," he said simply. "Well, I guess that explains her ultimatum."

"What is it, S?" Blair asked me, vaguely disconcerted.

"I – I don't know if I should say. It's – it's not really a good time." I knew my voice was as shaky as my hands, and I glanced at my wrist, hoping there was a watch there. There wasn't.

"Somewhere you need to be?" Chuck inquired knowingly, a calculating smirk on his face.

"School," I replied, too quickly to fool the two dark-eyed people before me. While Nate certainly would have let it go, I didn't have a chance of concealing my fear from the pair of brunettes.

"So you've decided that you're no longer skipping? I have to admit, I'm a bit insulted that my best friend would abandon me in my moment of need."

"B, you're with Chuck and Nate. You'll be fine," I countered.

"But, oh my head," she whined, rubbing her forehead dramatically. "It's _pounding_. And I need you to stay and read the _Vogue _articles to me, because obviously in my condition, it would be far too strenuous."

"Again, Chuck and Nate are here."

"Come on, S! Chuck may have style, but he doesn't want to sit and read to me about the upcoming Alexander McQueen line and what inspired Sarah Burton to design it."

"And Nate?" She rolled her eyes as if it were obvious.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Hey!" Nate inserted himself into the discussion. "What is that supposed to mean?" I saw an opportunity for escape and started edging my way to the doorway, picking up my Chanel bag and coat along the way.

"It means that you avoid reading whenever possible, with the exception of the flimsy excuses for mental exertion you find in _Sport's Illustrated_," Chuck supplied with a grin. I ignored the running commentary going on around me, snatched my Prada scarf off of one of the chairs, and wrapped it loosely around my neck. _Ten more steps and I'll be there. _

"I thought you liked my _Sport's Illustrated _magazines," argued Nate. _Six._

"I always make time for the swimsuit edition, but I'm afraid that's where my interest in _Sport's Illustrated _begins and ends." _Three._ "And now back to the real issue at hand. Serena, where do you think you're going?" Chuck swiveled his head back in my direction just as I reached the door of the hospital room.

"I – I need to go to the bathroom."

"There's one attached to the room, and on top of that, I don't see how you leaving with your coat, scarf, and purse is necessary." Chuck's perception, while impressive, could become quite inconvenient when you were the one trying to hide something from his acute gaze.

"Oh right. Well, I, uh – "

"S, there's no need to turn into a bumbling fool in order to come up with some lame excuse. We know what's going on here. So spill." Blair lifted her eyebrows in expectation and patted the bed delicately, her fingers grazing over the pristine white blanket.

"It's not some lame excuse. I really have to go to school, because I have to meet Dan, and plus I have to get your homework for you, and uh – " I would have babbled on, but Blair put an end to my misery.

"You know, I really thought I taught you better than this. You're an atrocious liar, Serena van der Woodsen. And while I am your best friend, and therefore felt it was my responsibility to correct your lying disability, I no longer wish to improve upon the problem."

"Because I'm lying to you." It wasn't a question, but Blair answered anyway.

"Yes. Now tell me what's going on."

"I can't," I said weakly, shaking my head as I let my jacket slip pitifully off my shoulders.

"You can, and you will. I told you my secret, and now you're going to tell me yours." The guilt tactic was one of Blair's favorites and often among the first she employed. "I laid it all on the line, and it hurts that you would then choose to hide a secret that causes you this kind of distress from me." She choked out a false sob and held a manicured hand to her face. "It hurts, S."

"Enough with the charade, B. It's not going to work." The hand immediately dropped onto her lap and her lips pressed into a line, the red fading as they grew tighter, the rose petals turning to thin, white strips.

"Okay. Then how about I remind you whom it is that you're with? The Non Judging Breakfast Club, remember? Or do you not recollect any of last night?"

"Yes I remember," I groaned before my voice changed into one that was nearly unrecognizable – its smallness and anxiety somehow able to fill the room. "It's just that my secret will make you all think of me differently. You'll think I'm a horrible person, and once you do, I won't have anybody to tell me differently. God knows I won't be able to convince myself otherwise." I sunk into the chair by Blair's bed, the one Chuck had previously occupied. The smell of him filled my nostrils, and my head began to spin even more with the potency of it.

"S," Blair finally spoke, her tone just as soft as mine but far more certain. She took my hand and held it tightly, reassuringly, soothingly. "I hate to tell you this, but there's nothing that you can say that will make me let go. We may fight and say mean things about each other sometimes, but you're my sister. And I'm not going to give up on my family." Her words brought tears to my eyes, and I began to cry in earnest as Nate and Chuck echoed her statements, assuring me that whatever I said couldn't change the friendship we'd formed. I wasn't sure how to say what I needed to, whether to say it the worst way possible, let my tongue spill out the words that were raw and ugly, or whether to tread lightly until the story of my past reached its climax. I never got around to making the decision, because as my brain whirred, my vocal cords took on a life of their own, and my mouth moved of its own accord. It wasn't until I heard my own words echoing in my head like the ringing of a gunshot that I realized what I had said.

_"I killed someone."_


	14. Opening

A/N: Hi, so while I realize that it is unlike me to not update for so long, I had some major writer's block, and I needed to take a step back for a little while, so I've been concentrating on my other story. But don't worry, I haven't forgotten about this one! And I'll try to be quicker next time, promise! Xoxo to all of you who are reading!

P.S. You may recognize some quotes from an actual episode of GG and obviously they do not belong to me.

* * *

**Chapter 14: Opening**

_"It always shocked me when I realized that I wasn't the only person in the world who thought and felt such strange and awful things."__  
__~ John Green, Looking for Alaska_

"_There is a saying in Tibetan, 'Tragedy should be utilized as a source of strength.'__  
__No matter what sort of difficulties, how painful experience is, if we lose our hope, that's our real disaster."__  
__~ Dalai Lama XIV_

_ "I killed someone."_

You know how sometimes people say that silence is louder than words? Well, it wasn't then. It was deathly quiet, as if all time and motion had stopped, as if all I had to do was say it was just a big joke and everything would unfreeze and go back to normal. Or maybe it would be better if I could jut rewind the seconds, all the moments of silence so palpable I was drowning in them, traversing through time. Every tick of the clock felt like an hour, but it was finally broken.

"S – Serena? Wh – what?" Not exactly what I was expecting, but it was relatively neutral and therefore graciously accepted.

"Well, it's kind of a long story," I began.

"Yeah, I'd imagine," Blair answered, still stupefied and unreadable.

"Maybe you should start at the beginning?" suggested Nate vigilantly.

"O – okay," I stuttered. "Obviously, you all know Georgina Sparks. Blair, do you – do you remember that night when I found out my mom was getting married to Klaus, and she would be spending all her time in Europe, essentially leaving Eric and me alone?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, Eric and I were really sad and angry with her. My mom isn't exactly a candidate for mother of the year, but we were starting to feel like a family, and she suddenly pulled the rug out from under us, you know? And with Eric still in recovery after his suicide attempt that winter, it felt like… I don't know. Like the worst possible time for husband number three to enter the picture, and then walk out of it, taking Mom with him. Eric and I decided to go out to get our minds off of it."

"I remember meeting you guys. I took Eric home. You seemed out of it but you said you wanted to stay."

"Yeah I did. But what you didn't know is Georgina and I had plans to meet up after, so I headed straight to her. Little did _I_ know, she had a surprise waiting for me. She was there with Pete Fairman, bottles of alcohol, and – and coke. Lots of it. When I got there, I was already drunk, but I kept drinking anyway. Eventually Pete started coming on to me pretty strongly, and I told him I wanted to do some lines first. He did one and – " my throat caught and made an ugly choking sound.

"S, it's okay, keep going."

"I can't," I whispered, shaking my head. "I'm scared."

"Yes, yes you can. We're right here." Blair squeezed my hand, and I closed my eyes, letting the horrible images piece together.

"He did one, and – and he started having seizures and – and foaming at the mouth, and I was so afraid. I was going to call 911, but Georgina told me we needed to get out of there – to grab my stuff and go, but I couldn't – I couldn't leave him like that, all alone. So I called on his cell phone and left. Then Georgina told me we had to split up. After, I waited near the hotel across the street. All I wanted was to see the paramedics helping Pete... but that's not what I saw. I didn't know what to do. I – I just knew I had to leave right away."

"So you got on a plane," Blair said quietly. "And disappeared for almost the whole summer with no word of explanation besides the excuse that you had to get away from the city for a while."

"Now you know the real reason why. And thank you, by the way, for not asking me to explain."

"You're my best friend," replied Blair with a shrug. "And I couldn't have gotten through the year without you. But there is something I should say."

"What?"

"It wasn't your fault."

"How can you say that?" I asked, aghast. "I was the one who said we should do coke! I was the one who left!"

"And I was the one who told my dad to leave and felt responsible for him getting into a fatal car accident." Blair lowered her eyes and raised them up again to meet mine with mulish conviction. "Serena, _it wasn't your fault._ And you know I understand how you feel."

"But Blair, it's – "

"No, it's not. Pete was going to do those drugs anyway. He was an addict, S. And while I would never wish his fate on my worst enemy, it was only a matter of time before it happened. You feel responsible, but you're not." She hugged me and rubbed a hand through my hair. "Everyone has things they're ashamed of, S. It's getting past them and overcoming that separates the strong from the weak."

"She's right," said Chuck. "You two don't think you're the only ones with a dark past, do you?"

"If it's Georgina you're referencing, I'd rather not have any details," Blair muttered, giving Chuck cause to crack a slight smirk.

"No, it wasn't Georgina. I've tried to block that from my mind completely. Bitch is psycho." We all nodded in agreement. "It's my father. He blames me for my mother's death. She died after giving birth to me. For a long time, I blamed myself too."

"Wait, hold on," Nate interrupted. "Am I the only one here who doesn't or didn't at one point hold themselves responsible for killing someone?"

"It sounds so crazy when you say it like that."

"Yeah, it does," Blair agreed with a small smile in my direction. "Hey, Nate, I think I have an idea so that you don't feel left out."

"You know, Blair, I think I'm good," said Nate, taking a few steps back. "_Really_," he emphasized.

"So I guess we'll have to come up with another plan for getting rid of Georgina," Blair sighed. And miraculously, wondrously, we _laughed_ – all four of us, in pitches high and low, dynamics soft and loud, until our stomachs ached and we had tears on our faces. Whether the tears were of joy or pain for everyone else, I didn't know. But as for me, they were a little of both, and yet somehow, that was okay. _I _was okay.

…

"Chuck?" Blair shifted onto her side and whispered to the blanket-covered lump beside her. "_Chuck_?"

"What?" he whined. "I was asleep!"

"We never got to finish talking about your mom." The lump rolled over.

"We don't need to."

"We do."

"Don't."

"Is this really how you want to argue it?" Blair ran a hand over the top of the blanket, trying to find the corner to pull it off.

"I thought bring-your-own-skeleton-in-the-walk-in-closet show and tell was over." He groaned as Blair succeeding in throwing the blanket over his head.

"Well, it's not. Now tell." She pried his hands from his face, forcing him to look at her while they lay parallel to each other in the hospital bed. "Or I swear I _won't_ be _showing_ you that ridiculous outfit you bought for me earlier."

"Resorting to threats, Waldorf? Tempting, but you forget who you're threatening."

"And you forget who's threatening you." At this, he gave her a wry smile.

"Put the outfit on now, and I'll spill like I'm on a therapist's velvet chaise lounge."

"Chuck, it's four in the afternoon," she told him, rolling her eyes. "We obviously fell asleep while we were plotting about Georgina, and I'm not going to have my doctors come in to check on me only to see me with bed head _and _in a skimpy excuse for a nurse's outfit."

"Are you worried it will imply that you haven't been getting your proper rest?"

"That's exactly what - "

"Because I'm planning on making it true," he interrupted, catching her lips in his before she could come up with a retort.

"Chuck - "

"No talking yet," he commanded. In between kisses, Blair attempted to maneuver her face far enough away to get a word out.

"Serena," she gasped.

"If you wanted to bring Serena into this, all you had to do was ask," Chuck smarmed. He lifted his thick, dark eyebrows nearly to his hairline and smirked. "Three may be a crowd, but it's a fun crowd."

"You're heinous," Blair announced, pulling her covers up to her chin. "And I meant that Serena is sleeping in the chair in that corner." She pointed to the source of the soft snores that were reverberating through the room.

"Well, I don't mind having an audience. Maybe she'll pass on what she learns to that hopeless boyfriend of hers."

"Though I agree that he's quite hopeless, I have to insist that we get back to a relevant subject. Tell me about what happened with your mother. _Please,_" she added, indefatigable in her badgering.

"Why do you want to know so badly?" he asked, in such a way that allowed Blair to discern a vulnerable, curious cadence in his voice.

"Because your past is a part of you, and I want to see everything." As Chuck's lips tilted upward, Blair quickly tacked on, "And don't even bother to share whatever raunchy joke you were about to."

"How did you know I was going to turn it into a joke?"

"I do know some aspects of your personality already, and proclivity for creating as many sexual innuendos and gags as possible is among the first I discovered." She narrowed her eyes, their dewy brown bright with aplomb.

"And in you I discovered a habit of invoking a petulant attitude to get what you want."

"I _really_ don't want to ask you again," she huffed, affirming his remark.

"Okay," he sighed, "Fine. After my mother, Evelyn, gave birth to me, according to medical records I've seen, she didn't stop bleeding. The doctors tried injecting oxytocin, but it didn't work. There was nothing they could do, and she died within two hours. I think it's the biggest reason my father and my relationship is the way it is. If she had left us, maybe things would be different. He would still see her when he looked at me, but not with bitterness or blame. Or maybe it wouldn't be different at all. I don't know…" he trailed off and looked surprised to see her still next to him, as if he had been talking to himself and only just remembered he wasn't alone.

"Have you told Bart how you feel?"

"Tell Bart about _feelings_?" he replied, barking out a laugh. "The two are like oil and water - bound to stay apart no matter how hard you try to push them together." He shook his head disconsolately. "He's so robotic that sometimes I stare at his back just to make sure there isn't a plug sticking into it."

"That's what I used to think about my mom, but we talked things out yesterday, and it was so good for both of us. What she had to say surprised me, and Bart might surprise you," she said gently.

"I doubt it."

"Well, if what you're saying about your relationship is accurate, then I don't see how you have anything to lose."

"I suppose it would be difficult to make things worse," he conceded, with a pensive look.

"That's the spirit! Now let's muster up some enthusiasm and resume our plotting against Whoregina! We may as well leave it to the experts, considering Serena's no help anyway, and Nate - wait, where is Nate?"

…

Nate took a deep breath as he entered the frozen yogurt shop. This was it - the moment he was going to ask Jenny out. While the timing wasn't exactly desirable with Georgina's ultimatum looming over his head, he wanted to give things a shot with the young Humphrey before Georgina brought the wrath and fiery doom of hell to his life in Manhattan.

"How's the cotton candy?" he heard Jenny ask.

"Not as sweet as you, doll," a tall man in a suit replied with a wink. Nate's hands balled into fists at the crude comment from the guy who must be at least thirty.

"Hey, watch your mouth," he fumed, embargoing the conversation by sandwiching himself between Jenny and the older man, who upon closer inspection was at least a head taller than Nate and had supple limbs that were pure muscle.

"Whoa, Junior, no need to get upset," the man returned with a sardonic grin. "I was just giving your girlfriend a well-deserved compliment, wasn't I sweetheart?"

"I'm not his girlfriend," Jenny said, pushing Nate out of her way. "But regardless, I don't want anything to do with you."

"Yeah, well your loss," he snapped, unable to come up with an intelligent rejoinder. After he stormed off, throwing his cup of pink yogurt in the trashcan along the way, Nate turned to Jenny.

"Hey, so not exactly how I planned this to go," he started, scratching the back of his neck with a grin.

"What do you mean how you planned this to go?" she questioned.

"I was kind of, uh…" he bit his lip and released a laugh that bubbled forth with nerves.

"You were kind of what?" asked Jenny, giving him a smile of her own.

"Do you want to go out tonight? Like to dinner?" Jenny's eyes widened, and her face took on a look of reticent skepticism.

"Really?"

"Would I be this nervous if I didn't want to?"

"I guess not," she said, giggling. "Yes, I would love to."

"Awesome," he breathed, feeling his heartbeat start to wind down and settle into a normal rhythm. "How does seven sound? And would you rather eat here or in Brooklyn, because I have to admit, I don't know any restaurants there, but if it would make you more comfortable, then we can definitely - "

"_Nate_," Jenny interrupted, laughing louder now. "Relax. I'm sure whatever you plan will be fine. Just text me the place later, and I'll meet you, okay?"

"Okay, yeah. Okay," he repeated dumbly before coming to his senses. "Wait, but I don't have your number. You never texted me after school on our first day."

"Oh right," she said, "everything that happened with Blair made me completely forget. Here." She took his phone and added her contact information. "Now you can reach me even when I'm across the bridge."

"Jenny?" Kati and Iz walked in the shop, followed by Nelly and Hazel. "Sorry we're late, we got stuck waiting for - " Kati immediately stopped her excuses when she saw Nate. "Oh sorry, I didn't mean to - "

"No, that's all right. I was just leaving. See you later Jenny." He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and was gone before she even realized what happened, but it would be all she could think about until seven that night. It was true that she was only a temporary queen, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to keep her king - permanently.


	15. Destroying

**Chapter 15: Destroying**

"_Right or wrong, it's very pleasant to break something from time to time."__  
__~ Fyoder Dostoyevsky_

"_I think I'll dismember the world and then I'll dance in the wreckage."__  
__~Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 1: Preludes and Nocturnes_

"S, you're awake."

"Uh, yeah I guess I am," I said, stretching my arms over my head and cringing at the smell I was hit with. "Yikes, I need to shower."

"I know, I can smell you from here." I stuck my tongue out at Blair then looked around the room and realized we were alone.

"Where's Chuck?"

"Oh, his dad was notified that he skipped school, so he, Bart, and my mom are having a discussion now," explained Blair, who appeared freshly showered and dressed.

"Your mom is talking to Bart?"

"Yeah," Blair sighed. "To tell him that Chuck was here with me and that he was just looking out for a friend."

"A friend?" I teased, making Blair smirk in amusement.

"Well, it's easier if that's what he's told. My mom seems to really like Chuck for some reason, so she decided to intervene without any pushing from me. Anyway, shifting gears - while you perfected the art of snoring like a middle-aged man with a beer gut, Chuck and I were busy planning our good _friend_ G's takedown."

"So what'd you come up with? Is it completely crazy? And does it involve anything illegal?"

"Slow down, S," she said, laughing. "I'm not going to play twenty questions with you, so start with one."

"Okay," I answered, already knowing which was the most necessary. "The illegal one. Answer it, B."

"Serena, I am insulted! You think I would do something illegal just get Whoregina out of New York?" She lifted her eyebrows, daring me to dispute her claim.

"Blair Waldorf and Chuck Bass, resident schemers of the Upper East Side, not even considering doing something illegal would be like me not even considering buying a new pair of shoes when I'm at Bergdorf's," I rejoined with an eye roll.

"Point ceded. He wanted to plant drugs in her hotel room or hire a hit man, and I wanted to pay someone to run her over with a taxi."

"And what did you end up deciding on?" I grilled her, more than a little anxious to hear the answer.

"The drugs actually aren't off the table," she replied shrewdly.

"Blair!"

"Serena!" she mimicked. "It's not a big deal. We'd have them sent from South America, put on a few trains, switched back and forth between bunches of different dealers… They'd be virtually untraceable."

"No, no drugs," I announced, determined to hold my stance. "I don't want anything to do with drugs ever again, even if it is to take Georgina down."

"Okay." She seemed to be convinced by the look on my face, and I felt a flood of relief. "It was pretty far back in the alphabet anyway - Plan N or something. Don't worry."

"And Plan A is?"

"We're starting by having her tailed," Blair said with the conviction and decisiveness of a military commander. "This will be two-fold: first of all, it gets her paranoid and on edge. Second, we'll know everything she does and everyone she talks to."

"Sounds good so far," I complimented.

"Thanks," answered Blair with a smile. "But it's only the starting point. We considered striking first, but with Georgina, we decided it's better just to let her give it a go, assess how far it is she's off her rocker. After she hits, we'll counter."

"With one of Plans B through Z, excepting N?" I asked playfully. Blair and I shared a laugh as she nodded.

"By Jove, I think she's got it!"

…

Jenny had practically floated on a cloud to Barney's. Cloud 9, to be exact. She had luckily snagged her father's credit card earlier in the day, knowing that the girls would likely request a trip to one of the luxury department stores. And now Jenny was especially grateful for her preparation, considering she had _nothing _suitable to wear for a date with Nate Archibald.

"Jenny, what do you think of this one?" In only a few short minutes, Jenny learned that being queen meant everyone asked your opinion and craved your approval on every single thing. Iz was wearing a white, flouncy number that pushed up her assets and ended mid-thigh. It was far too revealing for Jenny's tastes, but it did look gorgeous, its light color contrasting beautifully with Iz's coffee-colored skin.

"It's great Iz," Jenny complimented. "But I think this one would be even better." She handed Iz another dress, cream rather than white, with a more demure strapless bodice and longer hemline.

"Thanks, J!" Iz ran back to the dressing room to try it on, and Jenny inconspicuously switched floors in order to escape any more playing fashion critic.

"Excuse me, are you Jenny Humphrey?" Jenny twisted to her left and saw a girl about her age, perhaps a few years older, with pallid skin, blood red lips, and long, nearly-midnight hair that gave her the look of a more youthful Morticia Addams. She was softer in look but far harsher in the menace that transpired from the coiling of blood lips and staring of cold, blue eyes.

"Yes," answered Jenny. "And you are?" she asked, curiously rather than coarsely.

"Georgina," the other girl said, sticking out a hand, all of the malice dissipating from her demeanor. "I'm coming to Constance as a junior, and I knew I just _had _to meet you, considering you're the new queen of the school."

"Oh, no," Jenny corrected her, "I'm not the new queen. It's a temporary thing, you know, until Blair gets back."

"Blair Waldorf, right?" Georgina questioned her with a leer that made Jenny's skin crawl.

"Yeah. We're friends."

"So is it true she's dating Chuck Bass?" Jenny thought about it, then gave her a slight nod in response. "Interesting. Those Saint Jude's boys really are something, aren't they?" Georgina gave a little cackle and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

"I guess they are." Jenny tried to give a light giggle as well but it ended up coming out as an apprehensive whimper of a laugh.

"I actually have a boyfriend who goes there," Georgina went on, unperturbed by Jenny's reaction. "It's one of the reasons I decided to enter Constance this year. He's, like, the perfect guy."

"Great," Jenny commented, keeping her responses pithy in order to weasel her way out of the conversation as quickly as possible. Her eyes darted toward the upper floor, where she knew her friends were probably looking for her. Subjects didn't know how to function without their monarch.

"I am _so_ lucky to have him," sighed Georgina histrionically, enlarging her murky blue eyes with vehemence. "Hey, I wonder if you know him! He's extremely popular, I'm sure."

"What's his name?" Jenny indulged her, grabbing her phone to tell Iz and the other girls that she would be there shortly. The overly sweet, syrupy voice Georgina spoke with, along with with the words it imparted, was enough to cause Jenny to let her phone clatter abruptly to the cold, hard floor.

"Nate Archibald."

…

Nate didn't think much of it when he received a text from Jenny saying she was sick and would have to cancel on their date. He was crestfallen, yes, but suspicious? It wasn't in his nature.

…

Chuck was astounded at how different things were when you had two Waldorf women on your side. Not only had Bart been accepting of his absence from school, but also he had gone so far as to _commend _him on it, and while the extolling had been brief and expectedly mechanical, it had made Chuck reconsider the possibilities of his relationship with his father. He had even begun scoping out properties and found a particularly enticing burlesque club called Victrola, a place where you were transported back to earlier times, a place that invoked the forbidden fruit sensation of desires that were otherwise only granted in the imagination but were that much more enticing in their surreptitious nature when finally attained. Victrola would grant access to Bass Industries for a whole new generation of patrons, the up and coming elite, and ensure its future success. After all, once you go Bass, you never go back.

…

"Hey, Serena. This is the third time I've called or something, but I just wanted to talk, maybe see if you wanted to catch a movie. So, uh, call me back. Oh, and it's Dan, but you probably already knew that. So, yeah. Um, call me." Georgina brushed her white fingers across the keyboard of the phone and smiled sadistically, _victoriously_. It was sunset and not a single one of that rabble of losers had accepted her offer to join her and rule Manhattan side-by-side. Ah, well. Now that the initial loss had sunken in and passed, Georgina had no intention of ever losing to Gossip Girl's most beloved quartet again. She had started with Nate to provide a little insurance, because while the damage could be undone if she wanted to reverse it, it could also be expanded upon, a spider web that continuously shot out new patterns of silky thread until he, Serena, Chuck, and even the Queen B herself were wrapped up like flies, about to be killed by the Black Widow. They would be tortured, flop about with their useless wings, until they begged to be euthanized. Georgina continued to grin wickedly as she typed on Serena's cell.

_ Hey, Dan. I've been thinking, and we should probably end things. It's not you - it's me. I've found somebody else, and it's not fair to keep leading you on. While I know it's awful to do this through a text message, I don't have the strength to hear your voice right now. I'm so sorry._

Perfect. It was sappy but devastating - completely Serena. And if what Georgina had discovered on that lame gossip site about Dan were true, then he would believe it, never suspecting that it wasn't his beloved Serena who was really breaking off their relationship. One Humphrey down, one to go, thought Georgina. She had so many plans for little Jenny. Snapping the phone shut, Georgina pulled out her own cell and dialed the number she had swiped from Serena's contact list, an evening coffee run on her mind. She glanced out of the taxi window and looked at the buildings whose steel and stone reached the tops of clouds. They were so tall, yet with all that height, there was so much more to come tumbling down. Destruction had arrived in New York, and it was here to stay.

…

"It's been dark for a little while now, and we still haven't seen or heard anything suspicious about Georgina." Blair, now back in her penthouse, stood against the window, her forehead resting on the pane as she observed the black that popped with spots of light.

"That doesn't mean a thing," said Chuck, coming up behind her and wrapping a hand around her waist. "We know she went to Barney's, and while I'm not sure how useful that information is, we also know she spoke with the same blond there that she's with at a Starbucks right now."

"But we don't know who," cried Blair, exasperated. "So it's not helpful at all!"

"Mike didn't figure it out?" Nate asked. It was one of the only questions he'd asked thus far. He was being unusually quiet, and while it would normally have been picked up on, we were quite preoccupied with our own thoughts.

"Hasn't. As in, he will, but as of now, she's still unidentified. I'm having him take photos of her with his camera, and as soon as the photos are downloaded, he'll send them to me and through a facial recognition scanner."

"This is so frustrating!" Blair exclaimed. "Waiting for her to do whatever she's going to and just standing here, slowly going insane."

"I think it's just you who's going insane, B," I said with a laugh, hoping to lighten the mood. Not even Nate cracked a grin, clearly affirming Blair's statement. We _were_ going bonkers. "Blair, it's going to be fine," I tried. "Come on, it's four against one, and a demented one at that. What could happen?"

"Anything. _Because _she's demented. It makes everything that much harder to predict." Blair sighed as Chuck nestled his head on to her shoulder. "But it's true that I am much more proficient and logical in my tactics because of it."

"Not to mention, better looking," Chuck put in, pinching Blair's bottom.

"Ouch!" she squealed, whacking his hand and giggling.

"Okay, enough," I said, intervening. "Let's keep it G-rated, purely for my own sanity. I seem to be the only one left with it at the moment, which makes it invaluable."

"On the contrary, Serena, while Georgina may drive me toward insanity, Chuck drives me crazy in a way that's _completely _sane."

"Blair, gross!" Blair and Chuck looked at each other and laughed at my prudish attitude.

"Oh come on, S, since when have you been the priggish Puritan of the Upper East Side?"

"I'm not a - a what did you say?" I asked. Blair laughed again.

"I'm just saying, you're going to have to get used to this," she announced, turning her body into Chuck's and giving him a deep kiss that fringed upon PG-13.

"Or you could get a room," I suggested, aptly pointing to the staircase.

"You haven't tried on the outfit I got you yet, have you?" Chuck inquired, sliding his hands down Blair's backside.

"Without you? Of course not."

"Then, let's go." They joined hands and ascended the stairs practically two at a time, leaving Nate, me, and a curtain of silence hanging in the living room.

"So, Nate, why so quiet tonight?" I had finally noticed his dejected mood when the distractions created by Blair and Chuck were gone.

"Well, Jenny and I were supposed to go on a date, and she got sick."

"I'm sorry. But you'll go out another time!" I told him cheerfully.

"I know, but I really like her, and I was looking forward to it," responded Nate. "Who would've thought the kid with parents as snobby as mine would like a girl from Brooklyn?" I laughed at the frankness of the question.

"You least of all, I'd imagine," I said. "That reminds me - I need to call Dan. I meant to after I woke up, but I completely forgot." I shoved my hands in my pockets but came up empty. "Have you seen my phone anywhere?"

"No, I haven't. When was the last time you had it?" queried Nate. I rubbed my temples in an endeavor to conjure up the answer but couldn't remember.

"No idea."

…

"You mean Blair seriously didn't tell you?" inquired Georgina before she took a sip from her spiked Starbucks. Jenny had looked on warily as she slipped a flask out of her purse and splashed a few drops of alcohol into the coffee.

"No, she said I should go for him," she replied, pulling uncomfortably on her flat, blond locks.

"That is totally something Blair would do," said Georgina, grimacing with faux sympathy and a hint of the perverse amusement that Jenny was incapable of catching on to.

"What do you mean? Blair seems really nice."

"Nice?" choked out the dark-haired girl, nearly spitting out her coffee. "Queen B, resident bitch of the Upper East Side? She and I go back a long time, and baby, the girl has been called a lot of things but _never _nice." Jenny continued to look a bit skeptical, and Georgina leaned in so far that the freshman could smell the bitter scent of alcohol on her breath. "Think about it. Why would Blair tell you to go after a guy with a girlfriend unless she wanted to humiliate you? She sees you as a threat, and coming onto Nate would definitely ensure that you go down without her having to do any dirty work."

"Okay, I see your point," acquiesced the naïve blond. "She's coming back to school tomorrow. I should probably talk to her, hear her side of the story…"

"Are you kidding me?"

"What?" Jenny asked ingenuously.

"You can't talk to her about it!" Georgina practically shrieked, shaking her head for emphasis, eyes blazing with tempestuous blue fire. "If you do, she'll be able to manipulate the truth to her advantage like she always does."

"I don't get it. What are you saying I should do?" Jenny's eyebrows knit together in bewilderment and Georgina released a sigh of vexation. It was evident the girl was from Brooklyn. She couldn't see the opportunity for power even though it was the size of the famous Bridge itself.

"Usurp her throne, obviously! Get her back for what she did to you!"

"Doesn't that make me just as bad, though?"

"Jenny, Jenny," reproached Georgina condescendingly. "On the Upper East Side, _nothing_ is allowed to go unpunished. Blair deserves what's coming to her." She stretched out a pale, lissome arm and placed it over Jenny's. "Listen. She runs on the assumption that it's better to be feared than loved, but this is your chance to prove her wrong. What do you say?"

"I - I guess I can try." Georgina gave Jenny's arm a squeeze.

"_Smashing_."

* * *

A/N: How was it?


	16. Challenging

**Chapter 16: Challenging**

"_A trap is only a trap if you don't know about it. If you know about it, it's a challenge."__  
__~ China Miéville, King Rat_

The next morning, I still hadn't found my phone, and I was beginning to worry I would never locate it. It would be such a hassle to buy a new one that I was willing to hold off for a few more days and continue searching my penthouse as well as Blair's and try calling the hospital to ask if anyone had picked it up. As if I didn't have enough on my mind what with Georgina's threats, memories of Pete, and missing Dan (I hadn't spent any time with him in days and hadn't been able to call due to my missing phone), my mother decided 7 A.M. was a perfectly logical time to drop a ticking time bomb in my lap.

"Serena and Eric, my darlings, I'm getting married to Bart Bass, and he and his son are moving in!"

A time bomb that involved me getting Chuck as my roommate in a matter of days and my stepbrother in a matter of months, and though he wasn't completely intolerable (in fact, his antics were often quite entertaining), his lifestyle was sure to clash with the one I was trying to lead. With him in such close proximity, there was a danger of me reverting back to my days of partying and excess. Then again, he had been different since meeting Blair, and I was sure _she_ would be thrilled at the news, considering she now had an infallible excuse to throw her mother off the my-one-and-only-daughter-is-engaging-in-lots-of-hot-sex-with-an-established-debauchee trail. A sleepover at my penthouse sounded completely innocent, yet I was sure Blair wouldn't be in my room at all, nor would she be doing much sleeping. It was somewhat disturbing to think about, no, not somewhat - very, very, _very_ disturbing.

"So when are they moving in?" asked Eric, the first to break the silence. He was always the peacekeeper of the family, and today was no exception.

"Next week!" my mother announced, perceptibly thrilled by the news.

"Cool, I've always wanted a brother," Eric commented. "I just hope I get to keep one," he added under his breath, out of my mom's earshot.

"What, am I not good enough for you?" I teased, ruffling his hair.

"Of course you are! You're still my number one," he replied with a grin. "But you're not Chuck Bass."

"Oh God, please don't tell me you're going to start using that pompous catchphrase too! One person utilizing it every chance he gets is enough," Blair said in lieu of a greeting, sliding into a seat beside Eric at the breakfast table and popping a spear of pineapple in her mouth. "Actually, I think he seeks out opportunities to say it." She rolled her eyes and gave us a questioning look. "What?"

"Nothing," said Eric. "Just you seem really happy."

"What do you mean? All I've done is complain since I walked in."

"Yeah, with a huge smile on your face," he explained.

"Kind of counteracts the whole complaining thing," I added. "I'd bet that you actually like when he says it."

"No I don't!" she spouted indignantly, attempting to make her face match her voice.

"Whatever you say, B," I said with a laugh.

"Here, I'll prove it," she declared, not willing to lose even the slightest dispute. "Last night we were at it for," she dropped her voice to a whisper and cast a furtive glance at my mother, who was distractedly sifting through _The_ _New York Times_, "five hours, and when I asked whether he was tired, he responded with, 'I'm Chuck Bass. What do you think?'" She sighed and rolled her eyes again. "How bigheaded can you get? I mean _really_, it's ridiculous. And he had the audacity to use it again when I asked him whether he could get us into the fashion week party Marc Jacobs is throwing at the Palace."

"Well, that's actually a valid reason," Eric pointed out.

"It's beside the point!" Blair was irritated with our reluctance to agree with her.

"Just admit you love it, Blair," said Eric, "and make life less dramatic - "

"And loud," I put in.

"For the rest of us," he concluded.

"_Fine,_" she groaned, giving in. "It _is _a tad tantalizing - arrogant but alluring."

"Wonderful," Eric thanked her. "Now can we please get back to a topic that doesn't make me want to throw my fruit salad at someone?"

"Gladly," Blair agreed. "How about cotillion?"

"Cotillion?" I whined. "Please, no!" I had already decided I wasn't going to attend that waste of time event. My mom hadn't, and she was as much an Upper East Sider as those who had spent hours agonizing over the perfect speech, the perfect dress, and the perfect date just to impress a bunch of toffee-nosed, judgmental women.

"Serena," she argued. "It's the most important event of the winter, and it's fast approaching! We have to squish Georgina by then, by the way, because I will not tolerate anyone ruining this for me!"

"Wait, Georgina is back?" interrupted Eric.

"Unfortunately," Blair ground out. "And she comes bearing gifts - vengeance and dreadful one-liners."

"We should have the situation dealt with by December," I told Eric reassuringly. "She just needs to be sent back to wherever she came from."

"A dank, deep hole perhaps? Or a mental institution?" Blair mused.

"Anything's possible," I said, of the same mind.

"As I said last night, that's precisely the problem."

…

"Okay, Jenny, you are ready for this," Georgina whispered, her voice raspy and low. "Here she comes. Remember everything I told you."

"I'll try," Jenny whispered back.

"Hey, Jenny," Blair said with a friendly smile, not noticing Georgina's presence quite yet. "Thanks for stepping up while I was gone."

"No problem," Jenny replied. "But I'm afraid this is a permanent step up, Blair."

"What? What are you talking about?" asked a very puzzled Blair.

"Hey, Jen," I greeted her, waving, as I approached from behind Blair. "What's going on?"

"I wish I knew," answered Blair. "Ask Jenny."

"Jenny?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Well," she said with slight apprehension. "I'm taking over as queen of Constance. It's only right after you lied," Jenny stopped and smacked her head in frustration. "Darn, I wasn't supposed to say that!" she muttered, not softly enough to escape Blair's ears.

"Shut up, Jenny," Georgina scolded, shoving Jenny's ribcage with her elbow.

"I should have known you were behind this, Georgina," Blair spat. "What did she tell you?" she asked, whirling around to meet Jenny's eyes straight on.

"I - I," stuttered the blond. "Nothing."

"Jenny, if you lie to me, so help me God, I will - "

"See, she's threatening you already," Georgina interjected, her voice poisonous.

"She told me you were setting me up for failure with Nate!" Jenny burst out.

"_What_?" Blair screeched. "Nate really likes you, and furthermore, I have Chuck! Why would I do that?"

"Well, damn," Georgina griped. "You just had to ruin the plan, didn't you, Brooklyn?" She stood erect on the stairs, her white skin stretching so thin over her features that she looked like a skeleton in clothes. "Well, I suppose it's always been true that if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself!" With that, she stomped off, not turning back until she reached the road. From there, she called, "You'll be hearing from me soon, S! B, it was a pleasure as usual!"

"The pleasure was all yours!" Blair shouted back angrily. "Now, Little J, tell Serena and me _exactly _what happened."

…

After first period, Chuck found himself suddenly shoved against the brick wall of the science hall at Saint Jude's.

"Chuck, Georgina has attacked!"

"What?" he asked, preoccupied by the sudden motion and the way her arms were gripping him tightly to the wall.

"Georgina," Blair repeated. "She convinced Jenny Humphrey that Nate was her boyfriend and that I purposely set her up with someone taken!"

"She bought that?"

"She's from _Brooklyn_, for God's sake," Blair cried. "Of course she bought it! She also believed Georgina when she said that she should take me down for what I did!"

"How did you find out?" Chuck inquired, unsurprised that she had but still curious.

"Jenny, although it _was_ an accident," said Blair. "But she felt completely horrible about it after we compared sides of the story. I swear, Whoregina has a future in brainwashing if her path as a profligate set on intemperance doesn't work out for her."

"And did she speak to Nate?"

"I'm not sure, actually," answered Blair with a frown.

"I should tell him," Chuck said. "I have next period with him anyway."

"Yeah, okay," Blair agreed, preoccupied by her thoughts of Georgina. "I've got to get to class, but I'll see you at lunch, okay?"

"Sure." Chuck gave her a quick kiss before walking to Spanish, where he was sure to have an interesting conversation with Nate. He hoped the boy prone to confusion would be able to wrap his head around the complications of the events that occurred. "Hey, man," he said to Nate as soon as he spotted him. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

"Español, Señor Bass," he heard his teacher say from behind her desk.

"But the bell hasn't even - " Chuck was interrupted by the chiming of the bell that signaled the beginning of second period. "Ay," he sighed.

"Uh," Nate mumbled cautiously, both embarrassed at his lack of vocabulary in the Spanish language and unsure of how to phrase the question. "¿Que es tu pregunta para mi?" _What is your question for me?_

"A Jenny le gusta ti," Chuck said. _Jenny likes you. _"Ella no estaba enferma ayer. Georgina hablé una mentira que ella es tu amiguita, y Blair sabía pero no hablé nada porque ella vio Jenny como una amenaza grande." _She was not sick yesterday. Georgina said a lie that she's your girlfriend, and Blair knew but didn't say anything because she saw Jenny as a big threat._

"¿Um, repite, por favor?" Nate's eyes were glazed over and he looked utterly lost. _Repeat, please?_

"Muy dramático," his teacher put in, appearing quite invested in Chuck's narrative. _Very dramatic. _"¿Qué más?" _What else?_

"Nada para sus orejas," Chuck said snidely, figuring the conversation would have to be shelved for now. _Nothing for your ears. _He didn't need his middle-aged, overweight Spanish teacher with a propensity for absorbing any gossip overheard in her classroom knowing any of his personal business.

"Oh," Nate suddenly shouted, holding up his laptop. "Yo comprendo." _I understand. _Chuck looked over his shoulder and viewed the Google translate page, where Nate had managed to recollect the majority of his Spanish statements and translated them to English. "Necesito hablar con Jenny." _I need to speak with Jenny._

"Sí," Chuck concurred. "Sí," he said again for good measure and good luck, because as much as he despised Brooklyn, he cared about his best friend's happiness far more. Little did he know, a certain other brunette was feeling the exact same way about her blond counterpart.

…

"I'm telling you, he wouldn't even look at me!" I whined, tears streaming down my face. "I don't know what I did!"

"Oh, S," said Blair, a comforting hand on my shoulder as I cried in the back corner of math class. "I'm sure he'll come around, and if not, he's a complete idiot, which I've suspected all along anyway."

"I really like him! I need him to come around. And he is not an idiot!" I whisper-shouted.

"Dan Humphrey likes to believe he's an inwit, when in fact all he does is give me and everyone else around him an aching mazard with his pretentious, pseudo-intellectual rambling."

"What's a mazard?" I asked, giggling despite my sadness. Leave it to Blair to use bizarre vocabulary to be humorous.

"It's archaic," she enlightened me. "It means head or skull."

"And inwit? It sounds like nitwit, but I know Dan doesn't think he's silly."

"Someone with great wisdom and understanding," she defined, as if on autopilot. "Also archaic."

"What's with you and obsolete words?" I queried.

"I like that nobody says them very often, if ever," explained Blair. "It makes them more special. Like you're the only person using them at that very moment, you know?"

"That's actually cool in a nerdy way," I laughed. "Plus it makes you sound smart."

"Also a plus," she said, laughing softly.

"Hey, I forgot to ask you. Have you seen my phone anywhere? It's been missing since last night." Blair's eyes immediately widened in realization.

"Georgina must have it! If she did something to Dan on it, it would explain why he's not happy with you at the moment."

"You're right! I can't believe I didn't think of that before!" It was stupid of me really, to not even consider the possibility of Georgina having taken my phone from the hospital. Unfortunately, there was no chance of me getting it back unless I sought her out, and if I didn't, there was no telling what else she might do on it. Blair, as usual, knew exactly what to do and planned a course of action.

"Here's what you do. You go to the store, buy a new phone, and deactivate your old one. I'll meet with Chuck after school and we'll try to figure out what else she's getting herself, and by extension us, into."

"You're the best, Blair," I said genuinely.

"I know," she responded, raising her hand to answer the complicated math problem written on the board.

…

"Hey, Bass!" Chuck turned around and grinned. Blair was leaning on his limo with her arms crossed and a smirk on her face. "Care to take a ride?"

"Love to," he murmured in her ear, sliding his hands down her backside.

"There will be plotting too, obviously," she clarified.

"Obviously," echoed Chuck. "Nothing turns me on like social destruction."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

The rest of Constance and Saint Jude's watched with interest as Blair and Chuck climbed into the limo and began kissing passionately before the driver even shut the door. Nate, however, was an exception as he raced across the concrete to reach a blond that was just about to head to Hazel's.

"Jenny, wait up!" he called, panting as he eventually caught up. He had been kept after class his last period for some sort of missing homework assignment and was worried the entire time about missing his window of opportunity with Jenny.

"Hey, Nate," she said warily. "Listen, I'm really sorry for lying about - "

"Already forgiven," Nate said, brushing off the unnecessary apology. "I just want a promise of reschedule. Can you give me that?"

"Of course!" Jenny responded enthusiastically with a wide smile. "How about tomorrow night?"

"Great. And Jenny?" Nate added, causing her to turn back. Acting on impulse, he caught her arm and pulled her to him, giving her a brief kiss on the lips before sauntering off without looking back.


	17. Planning

A/N: So, so sorry for the incredibly long wait! I hope you like the chapter! Feel free to leave a review if you don't completely hate me for the lack of updates ;)

**Chapter 17: Planning**

"_It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him."_

_~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit_

"What antics do you think she'll pull next?" Chuck asked, twirling one of Blair's stray curls.

"I'm not sure. I think it's more important to figure out _whom_ rather than _how _she'll be striking next," answered Blair. She straightened her back and stretched, attempting and failing to stifle a yawn.

"Did I wear you out already, Waldorf?"

"Of course not. It's just all of this drama that's making me tired."

"Are you sleeping okay?" he asked quietly, concern in his voice. Blair appreciated it, but it also grated on her nerves a bit. She didn't need him to look out for her. She wasn't a child.

"You'd know better than me. I've been with you every night this week."

"You say it like it's a bad thing."

"Maybe it is," she bit out, immediately regretting it when she saw the look of hurt that flashed on Chuck's face before it morphed into protective stone.

"And why is that?" he asked, his voice strained.

"I – I didn't mean that, Chuck. I'm on edge, and I'm taking it out on you." She offered him a small smile and laced their hands together.

"It's fine."

"It's not. I'm sorry."

"Make it up to me?" he murmured, pulling her into his lap.

"With pleasure."

…

"Dan!" I called, spotting his dark buzz-cut and signature messenger bag. "Dan, wait!"

"What do you want, Serena?" he snapped. I flinched, but it was better than silence.

"To see the message you claim I sent you. Please."

"Why? And what do you mean, the message I 'claim' you sent me? It was sent from your phone!"

"And I didn't have my phone!" I shouted, exasperated. "Georgina had it. She's currently on some wild rampage to ruin my life, along with Chuck, Blair, and Nate's, and she knew breaking up with you would hurt me."

"Wait, slow down," ordered Dan, throwing up his hands, a look of bewilderment on his face. "Who the hell is Georgina?"

"A ghost – or demon I guess would be more fitting – from my past." I grimaced, picturing Georgina with the devil horns that were no doubt hidden somewhere in her thick, dark hair. "She's completely evil and totally psycho on top of that."

"And she took your phone?" asked Dan, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes." Please believe me, I begged him silently.

"So you didn't send me that message?"

"No."

"Then can I kiss you now?" My heart leapt.

"You don't even need to ask."

…

"Hello? Nate, are you even paying attention?"

"Yeah, Blair, sorry." Nate shifted his eyes back to Blair and reluctantly muted the football game he had on. "It's just that the Giants are playing, and I have this fantasy team – "

"It's not like you watching is going to change how the game ends," Blair argued logically. She crossed her legs and took out a ballpoint pen and notepad. "Now. Time to decipher the note Whoregina left for me at the front desk this afternoon."

"What note?" I asked, walking into the Waldorf penthouse. "B, if this is some dirty note Chuck wrote you, I really don't want to – "

"Serena, relax. I'm talking about this." She handed me a piece of pristine white paper, on which a few lines were written in a shaky hand.

"Well, based on her penmanship, I'd say she was wasted when she wrote this."

"Figured that out already," Chuck stated, taking a sip of water. I narrowed my eyes at his uncharacteristic beverage choice.

"Why are you drinking water?"

"He's pregnant," snapped Blair. "Now, please, can we just get on with this?"

"Let me read it first," I said, unfurling the edges.

_B – _

_It's time for you to learn that relationships can be broken much faster than they can be mended._

_Enjoy your weekend._

_All my best, G._

"I don't understand." I rubbed my forehead in mystification.

"Oh, really? I'm _shocked_," Blair said sardonically. "Confusion is a look that _never_ seems to grace your face."

"Blair, cut it out," Nate interrupted. "You're not helping anything."

"Well, forgive me if I'm not all happy-go-lucky after Serena _ditched _me today."

"Oh, shit," I muttered to myself. Then in a louder voice, "Blair, I'm so sorry. Dan forgave me, and we went to this vintage bookstore, and I completely blanked on dinner."

"Well, that's great. It's nice to know a squirrelly Brooklyn dweeb is able to make you forget about plans with me." I would have defended him had it not been for the teasing tilt in Blair's tone and the way her eyes glowed with mirth.

"I would say he's more of a monkey," mused Chuck. "A furry, black-haired monkey."

"You guys," I laughed, ready put an end to the abasement of my boyfriend. "Quit it."

"Only if you help with the note." Blair quirked an eyebrow, putting forth her bargain.

"Deal. So what do you have planned for this weekend?" I asked, figuring Georgina may be planning something that coincided with one of Blair's events.

"Seriously, I can't watch football, but you're asking her about her weekend plans?" inquired Nate, shaking his head.

"Read the note, Archibald." I slid it to him, a grin on my lips. "So, Blair? Anything in particular come to mind?"

"Well," said Blair, slightly wrinkling her forehead as she contemplated all of the times she had chronologically written in her day planner. "I have dinner with Chuck, brunch with Hazel and Kati the next morning, my mom's fashion show that day – "

"That must be it!" I exclaimed. "It's exactly the sort of public gathering Georgina would go for."

"Serena makes a good point," agreed Chuck. "And she probably knows that you and your mother practically just reconciled."

"Well, at least now we'll be ready," declared Blair with fierceness in her eyes. "Chuck, you're on security. Give all of the guards her name and picture. Pay them extra if you have to," she added, handing over a fistful of bills. "Nate, you're in charge of keeping the models occupied, making sure none of them have a chance to do a double cross and assist Georgina in her plan. That's assuming she gets in, of course."

"Which she won't," Chuck assured her. Blair blew him a kiss.

"As much faith as I have in you, it never hurts to make additional preparations. Serena, you manage the clothes. Don't let anything happen to them, okay?"

"Got it," I said. I nodded for extra emphasis. "What are you going to do, B?"

"Damage control, in case any of you slip up for any reason. And, obviously, someone has to make sure my mother doesn't have a panic attack. I feel like that unfortunate duty should go to me." Blair turned to look at Nate. "Don't look so abject, Nate. Your job is like America's Next Top Model coming to life. Don't tell me that doesn't sound at all enticing."

"I'm just not really into fashion." He gestured toward his simple, blue-and-white checked shirt. "Clearly."

"Though you are much more Abercrombie than Armani, it doesn't mean you can't have style," reasoned Blair. "Maybe you'll learn a thing or two tomorrow. Besides, Jenny will be there, as she happens to _adore _fashion."

"She will?" It was probably the only thing he'd heard come out of Blair's mouth. His mouth formed an "o" as he considered the bright prospect Eleanor Waldorf's fashion show was quickly becoming.

"Close your mouth, my friend," Chuck said languidly with a smirk. He sunk down into the seat beside Blair and slung an arm around her. "Desperation doesn't suit you."

"Hey! I am _not _desperate," Nate huffed, pulling on his already-stiff shirt. "For your information, she's into me too."

"I was just messing with you, Nathaniel."

"I knew that."

"_Sure_ you did."

…

"So where are we going tonight? I hate to say it, but you're going to have a very tough time topping our first dinner together."

"That's why I'm not doing anything extravagant. Well, that, and the fact that I'm still cut off," Chuck laughed, surprisingly not bitterly.

"What, your false contriteness hasn't won Big Bad Bart over yet?" Chuck elbowed her, and she giggled. "Hey, I was just asking!"

"To answer your question, no it hasn't. But I've actually not attempted to even appear contrite." He shrugged. "It's useless, as I've figured out time and time again. Instead, I'm keeping my head down and doing what I'm supposed to be doing."

"And doing _who_ you're supposed to be doing," Blair murmured, kissing his jaw, "though I suppose he doesn't know about that." Chuck laughed deeply.

"No, but he _should_ get to meet you," he said. "How about tonight?"

"_What_? What happened to your other plans for us?" Blair couldn't help it, the thought of meeting Bart terrified her a bit, and she wasn't one to scare easily. But all of the stories she'd heard – both from Chuck and others – led her to believe that he was incorrigibly contentious, endlessly contravening everyone's rules and opinions but his own. And while Chuck could certainly be passionate about his beliefs, he could at least acknowledge an opposing logical argument. Bart? Not so much, if she took popular opinion as truth. Bart had tunnel vision, and once he made up his mind about something – or someone, she gulped – that was it.

"My plans were lame. This is a much better idea." He leaned up in his seat. "Arthur? Turn around; we're heading back to the Palace."

"Chuck, wait a minute," Blair pleaded. "Think this through. Are you _sure _you think I should meet Bart? I mean, what if he doesn't like me?"

"How could anyone not like you, Waldorf? You're perfect," he said, tracing a finger along her chin. "And if he doesn't see that, he's even crazier than I thought. Besides, Lily's there, and she adores you."

"She is?" Blair breathed a sigh of a relief.

"You think I would drag you to the penthouse to eat with just Bart and me? Blair, I'm spontaneous, not suicidal," he laughed. "I practically need an appointment just to _speak_ with my father."

"Okay, I'm in," she said, choosing to abide by Chuck's suggestion despite her slight misgivings. She just hoped it wouldn't be too disastrous.

…

"So I'm working on a story," Dan announced as we ate takeout in the loft.

"Really?" I asked, peeling my eyes away from the movie we were watching.

"Yeah."

"What's it about?"

"Don't hate me," he said, already setting off an alarm in my head. "But it's about your soon-to-be stepfather, Bart."

"What? Why would you want to write about him? He's a total stick in the mud," I replied, rolling my eyes.

"Yeah, but it's an assignment with a prominent magazine. This could be a big opportunity for me, and I was hoping you could put in a good word for me with Bart."

"Okay, I will, but _only_ because I – "

"Because you what?" he cut in, already laughing upon the realization that I was about to make fun of him.

"Because I know you're going to be a Nervous Nelly around him, and I want him to have a good impression of you before you get all sweaty and shaky," I teased him.

"I thought the social awkwardness was part of my charm!" he said in mock-ire.

"Yeah, I lied."

"Well, what am I going to do now? Seventeen years of inept displays of socialization and now my girlfriend tells me it was all for nothing…"

"Oh come on, it was for _something_," I said, a smirk lighting my face.

"Yeah? What's that?"

"I don't know," I said. "I just wanted to make you feel better."

"Jerk!" He tossed a pillow at my head.

"Bully!" I volleyed back, throwing one of my own and hitting his chest. It was only a few minutes before we were engaged in a full-fledged pillow fight, cackling with each satisfying _thunk_ on the other's body.

"I beat you." I was lying on the floor, staring up at the loft ceiling.

"Did not." He rolled onto his side to face me.

"Admit that I won and we can go make out in your room." My eyes were still stuck on the ceiling, but I knew I was smiling.

"Resorting to bribery, are we, van der Woodsen?"

"The best kind of bribery, don't you agree?" I finally turned and saw him smiling back.

"Couldn't agree more. Victory is yours."


End file.
